Gleelight
by FootballGirl96
Summary: I really like Twilight, I really like Glee...So why not combine them? ON HIATUS!
1. First Sight

_**AN: Ok so lets face i'm not very original with this. i just really like Twilight but I can't stand Edward and Bella (no offense to those who do) so I put it in a way I would love it. ALMOST ALL OF THIS BELONGS TO STEPHANIE MEYER! THE OTHER HALF IS ALL RYAN MURPHEY'S! And because Stephanie Meyer loves big words and detial this is going to be exactly like her book (almost) IT'S NOT PLAGERISM! If it is I apologize and i will take it down if it offends anyone...But I just figured y'all would like this as much as I would so yea...**_

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt – sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shad that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Robert, vacationed with my in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself – an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat, the dance studios and the theatres, and sometimes even the school.

"Brittany," my mom said to me – the last of a thousand times – before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide childlike eyes. Both of us were prone to periods of simplicity, as we put it, but she definitely had it worse. Of course now she had Alex, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I _want_ to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, she had too, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Robert I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted, ever the optimist. "You can come home whenever you want – I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me and I had my iPod; the hour in the car with Robert, though, I was a little worried about.

Robert had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure awkward with Robert. Neither of us was what anyone would verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision – like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste of Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen – just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Robert was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Robert is Police Chief Pierce to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Robert gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I made my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Britts," he said, smiling as he let go of me. "You haven't changed much. How's Katherine?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Robert to his face.

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled out resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the truck of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for _you_" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Michael Chang down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian Reservation on the coast.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Robert prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking repulsive things from my memory. Not that I didn't like fishing, it was just the hurting of the fish that I despised.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Robert continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see form his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Michael's done a lot of work on the engine – it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties – or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ro – dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Brittany, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

_The thing,_ I thought to myself…it had possibilities – as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, honey, I kind of already brought it for you. As a homecoming gift," Robert peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Robert wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. Sometimes I wondered how he could possibly have been my father, we were such opposites. But to make the car ride as smooth as possible I gladly avoided eye contact with him when I answered as well.

"That's really nice, dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth – or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. I put my headphones in and we stared out the window in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green – an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Robert's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had – the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new – well new to me – truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus , it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged – the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Robert said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window – these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Robert had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a second-hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Robert. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about Robert is that he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven – now fifty-eight – students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

In Arizona I looked like most of the other girls, so I wasn't really noticed by anyone other than my dance instructor. I was just another tall, blonde hair, blue eyed girl in a sea of the exact same thing, the only difference being that my skin never tanned like everyone else's. I had even tried cheerleading for a while before I found that dance was better, that, and the coach was insane. Insisting we have two hour practices before school, four hour practices after school, and half a day practices on Saturdays all to learn how to flip and yell words at the same time! While it got me into amazing shape, I figured death just wasn't worth the amazing abs. Dance kept me active enough so that I kept them anyway though, so it was a win-win.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. I would definitely be noticed, but the question was, would I want to be?

I don't always relate well to people my age. They never understood the things I said or why I would rather go to a ballet performance instead of the school football game. Add being bisexual to that list and even the people in Phoenix would look at you weird. Even my amazing mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn't matter. All the mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant _whoosh_ing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Robert was a quiet event. He wished me food luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me most times. Robert left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three un-matching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Robert and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to the last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at – I would have to see what I could do to get Robert to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Robert had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket – which had the feel of a biohazard suit—and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Brian of Robert had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life than idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain=link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading _**Front Office**_. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get direction inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small' a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Brittany Pierce," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheet to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled and me and hoped, like Robert, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes of Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny red Mustang, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a short, stout man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Lence. He gawked at me when he saw my name – not an encouraging response – and of course I blushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Shakespeare, Meyer, and a few I hadn't read but had heard of. I kept looking down at the list as the teacher droned on, occasionally speaking in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a boy with soft looking blonde hair and muscles indiscreetly hidden beneath a tight gray t-shirt leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Brittany Pierce, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, Christian boy type.

"Yea," I confirmed his statement. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Dyrdahl, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed towards building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Sam," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

We got out jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny" I told him.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. Maybe they'd all think I was just weird now.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south building by the gym. Sam walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside. He was cute but I hated boys who way too gentlemanly.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr Riewer, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered and blushed on the way to my seat. I hate crowds.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves to me and ask me question about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet nine inches and her clothing, which consisted of weird sweaters and a skirt, scared me a little. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Sam, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big – muscled like a serious weight lifter, tan and had a Mohawk that somehow just made him look all the more threatening. Another was medium height; his hair seemed to be put together with at least a gallon of gel but he pulled it off somehow. The last was the shortest and probably the most fashionably dressed of the five. He kept looking at his fingernails as if bored and wishing he could be anywhere but here, every now and then he would look over at the one who could have been the heir to a gel factory, than back to his nails. The girls were breathtaking. The slightly taller one was blonde and had a figure you'd see on the cover of a _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to just past her shoulders. The other girl was just as tan as the mohawked boy. Her long black hair cascading down to the middle of her back. She looked the most bored, but every now and then her attention would wander to one of the other four as if they had called her name.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in skin and hair tones. They also had barely there dark shadows under their eyes – as if suffering from a sleepless night. Their features were all straight, perfect, and angular, as if they were born to be models.

But all this isn't why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful – maybe one of the girls.

They were all looking away – away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the bored looking boy rose with his tray – unopened soda, unbitten apple – and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched amazed at the lithe dancer's steps that I had yet to master after 12 years of dancing, until he dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. And for the first time in my life I was jealous of a boy. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are _they_?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant – though already knowing, probably, from my tone – suddenly she looked at her, the darker one, the black haired girl. She looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then her dark eyes flickered to mine.

She looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, her face held nothing of interest – it was as if the nameless girl had called out to her, and she'd looked up in an involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Noah and Santana Lopez, and Quinn and Blaine Fabray. The one who left was Kurt Hummel; they all live with Dr. Fabray and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the tan girl, who was looking at her tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long fingers. Her mouth was moving quickly, her perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt she was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I though. The kinds no one had. But maybe that was in vogue here – unique names for unique people. I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Rachel, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Rachel in my History class back home, granted, they talked _a lot_ less.

"They're…very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" Rachel agreed with another giggle. "They're all _together_ though – Kurt and Blaine, and Quinn and Noah, I mean. And they _live_ together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Fabrays?" I asked. "They don't look related…"

"Oh they're not. Dr. Fabray is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Lopezs _are_ brother and sister, twins – the tan ones – and they're foster children."

"They look a little old of foster children."

"They are now, Santana and Noah are both seventeen, but they've been with Mrs. Fabray since they were eight. She's their aunt of something like that."

That's really kind of nice – for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Rachel admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Fabray can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to the new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, one of the girls looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in her expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that her glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which on is the tan girl?" I asked. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye, and she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today – she had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

Rachel looked at me with a question written all over her face and of course she asked it. "Are you _gay?"_ she whispered than spoke in a normal voice "because I'm totally ok with that after all I have two gay dad's and they're the most supportive, kind-hearted, beings on this planet and-"

"Rachel" I suddenly said snapping her out of her rant. "Yes, I'm bi and it's ok. But can you please answer my question?"

She looked a little put off at being stopped but at the chance to talk she answered anyway. "That's Santana. And while I agree she's beautiful, I wouldn't waste your time. I've never seen her even talk to anyone else besides her family."

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful – even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Santana didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Rachel and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Mercedes, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together and I listened her talk about how annoying Rachel was but she still loved her anyway. She might be my favorite person here.

When we entered the classroom, Mercedes went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Santana Lopez sitting next to that single open seat.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching her surreptitiously. Just as I passed, she suddenly went rigid in her seat. She stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on her face – it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again, yet somehow making it up to the teacher's desk.

Mrs. Weishalla signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, she had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by _her_, bewildered by the antagonistic stare she'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. She was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like Aussie, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a blonde curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange girl next to me. During the whole class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see her hand on her left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under her tan skin. This, too, she never relaxed. She had the long sleeves of her white shirt pushed up to her elbows, and I noticed the muscles in her forearm. I had the urge to run my fingers along the length of her arm to see if it was as soft as it looked but restrained myself for fear of her hating me more.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she wasn't breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this her normal behavior?

It couldn't have anything to do with me. She didn't know me from Eve.

I peeked up at her one more time, and regretted it. She was glaring down at me again, her black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from her, shrinking against my chair, the phrase _if looks could kill_ suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Santana Lopez was out of her seat. Fluidly she rose – taller than I thought but still a few inches shorter than me – her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after her. She was so mean. It wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, I'm not a violent person but she seemed to judge me before she even knew my name and I was mad.

"Aren't you Brittany Pierce?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his brown hair cut like a little kids, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Yea, that's me" I confirmed his statement.

"I'm Finn."

"Hi, Finn."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer – he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Santana Lopez with a pencil or what? I've never seen her act like that."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that _wasn't_ Santana Lopez's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yes," he said. "She looked like she was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to her."

"She's a weird girl." Finn lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation.

The Gym teacher, Ms. Bright, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home only two years of P.E. were required. Here P.E. was mandatory all four years. I didn't mind it, just another way to exercise.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously until the final bell rang. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Santana Lopez stood at the desk in front of me. She didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

She was arguing with her in a low, threatening voice. I quickly picked up on the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time – any other time.

I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire backet, and walked out again. But Santana's back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me – her face was absurdly beautiful – with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. She turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," she said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I'll just have to endure it." And she turned on her heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did you first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

.When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I hand in the damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Robert's house, fighting tears the whole way there.


	2. Open Book

**A.N. Hey, sorry I haven't updated but between basketball and school I don't exactly have a lot of time. But good news, Christmas break is here and I've been writing like a mad woman. Oh, and just because I'm just random like this, I have two things to say…1. You people have GOT to go look up In My Veins by colourmywords, tis amazing 2. Thanks to the people who review because I'm still not that awesome at getting around and that's the only way I can know who actually reads this so, again, thanks so much **

The next day was better…and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Finn came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with buff nerd Sam glaring at him all the while; that was flattering. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Finn, Sam, Rachel and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Riewer called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had found out that I was one freaking week late for the hip-hop segment of gym and we had just moved on to volleyball. I'm not bad at volleyball but if I had to choose between getting red arms and owning the dance floor every seventh hour; I'd always choose the second option. And it was worse because Santana Lopez wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing her bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Rachel—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her, and failing entirely—I saw that her four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and she wasn't with them.

Finn intercepted us and steered us to his table. Rachel seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment she would arrive. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came, and prove my suspicions false.

She didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn't showed. Finn, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Santana Lopez wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Finn followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl in a cheerleading uniform with a neckbrace. It looked like I was going to have to do something with Finn, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; and my practice with dealing with overly friendly boys was…limited.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Santana was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason she wasn't here. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true.

When the school day was finally done, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. I hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.

Last night I'd discovered that Robert couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. And even though recipes sometimes confused me, I figured even I could do a better job. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I grabbed my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Fabray's, the Hummel boy, and the left behind Lopez getting into their car. It was the shiny new Mustang. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before—I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, they style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.

No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I was finally free of the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Robert wouldn't mind. Pulling out my IPod and finding a cooking channel followed the instructions for my first dinner. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp hair up into a ponytail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages.

_"Brittany," my mom wrote…_

_Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how you flight as. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Alex says hi. _

_Mom._

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

_"Brittany,"_ she wrote…

Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.

The last was from this morning.

_Brittany Susan Pierce,_

_If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Robert._

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

_Mom,_

_Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash._

_Brittany 3_

I sent that, and began again.

_Mom,_

_Everything is great. Of course it's rainging. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch._

_Your blouse is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday._

_Robert bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me._

_I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax. Breath. I love you._

_Brittany 3_

I had decided to read _Wuthering Heights_—the novel we were currently studying in English—yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Robert came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs, taking a quick look back on the cooking YouTube channel to see what to do before I took the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Brittany?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook who was as confused by recipes as I am, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad (one of the things I _wasn't_ confused by) while the steaks cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Britt."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

"so, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Rachel. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Finn, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Finn Hudson. Nice kid—nice family. His mom owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. Took over after his father left them, they make a good living off all the back packers who come through here."

"Do you know the Fabray family?" I asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Fabray's family? Sure. Dr. Fabray's a great man."

"They…the kids…are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Robert surprised me by looking angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Fabray is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him—lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature—I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Robert make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Robert said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TC, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team quickly learned that I was an amazing asset and gave me the opportunity to spike the ball every time. I'm starting to get sick of it and think that for the next unit I'll be totally terrible just for a break.

Santana Lopez didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of her family entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Finn was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Santana would be there. For all I knew, she had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Robert, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got..and shuddered at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Finn took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on _Wuthering Heights._ It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Finn said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ew." Snow. There went my good day.

He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"No. that means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

"Wow, Arizona you had a horrible child hood." Finn laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Sam, who was walking away, his back toward us—in the wrong direction for his next class. Finn apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

He just nodded, his eyes on Sam's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain—until it melted down into your bra.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Rachel after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had thought I was bad but Rachel carried a binder in her hands, ready to use it as a shield if someone came near her. I thought it was hilarious, but something in her expression, and the fact that I didn't have the first clue how to make one, kept me from lobbing a snowball at her myself.

Finn caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting into his little boy-cut. Rachel had suddenly forgotten about her fear of flying balls of white and was now talking animatedly to Finn about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Rachel pulled on my arm.

"Hello? Brittany? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Brittany?" Finn asked Rachel.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a water today." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungy?" Rachel asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor.

I wated for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my water slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Finn asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I _should_ play it up and escapre to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Fabray family's table. If she was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.

I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.

They were laughing. Santana, Blaine, and Noah all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Kurt and Quinn were leaning away as Noah shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Santana the most carefully. The circles under her eyes were a lot less noticeable and her smile seemed genuine. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Brittany, what are you staring at?" Rachel intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that she didn't look harsh or unfriendly as she had the last time I'd seen her. She looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Santana Lopez is staring at you," Rachel giggled in my ear.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should she be?"

"I don't think she likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm.

"The Fabray's don't like anybody…well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her," I hissed.

She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she didn't contemplating violence if she resisted.

Finn interrupted us then—he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Rachel agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Finn left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since she didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to her again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Finn as usual—he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers—but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all races of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Finn kept up a sting of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mrs. Weishalla was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and a box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping slightly and disheveled—even so, she looked like she'd just finished shooting one of those commercials for a power drink that they douse you with water in and you still come out looking sexy as hell. Her dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her flawless lips. But her eyes were careful.

"My name is Santana Lopez," she continued, her voice sending a shiver through me that I tried hard to hide. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Brittany."

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; she was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.

She laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

I felt my cheeks start to burn from the intensity of her stare and had to look away. Thankfully, Mrs. Weishalla started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," she commanded.

"Cute one's first, partner?" Santana said. I looked up to see her smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at her like an idiot.

Her face quickly dropped "Um, I'm sorry I didn't—I mean—would you like to start?"

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."

I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident. "Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" she asked as I began to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she asked. Her fingers were ice-cold, like she'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, a sort of warmth seemed to flow from her to me and shot straight to my heart and I gasped at the sensation.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling her hand back immediately. However, she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, still staggered, as she examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.

"Prophase," she agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet.

"Like I said." I stated.

She laughed and swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Anaphase," she murmured, writing it down as she spoke.

I kept my voice indifferent. "May I?"

She smirked and pushed the microscope to me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, she was right. "Anaphase," I agreed reluctantly.

"Like I said," she quoted me and I didn't need to look up from the scope to see the grin I heard in her voice.

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at her.

She handed it to me; it seemed like she was being careful not to touch my skin again.

I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

"Interphase." I passed her the microscope before she could ask for it but she pushed it lightly back and looked into my eyes.

"I trust you," she smiled shyly, then turned to write down the answer on the worksheet.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Finn and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.

Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at her…unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and she was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in her face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly.

She seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

She shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of her eyes the last time she'd glared at me. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn't understand how that could be, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. Her hands were clenched into hard fists again.

Mrs. Weishalla came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. She looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Santana, didn't you think Brittany should get a chance with the microscope?" Mrs. Weishalla asked.

"Actually, she identified three of the five." Santana answered her shoulders squaring.

Mrs. Weishalla looked at me now; her expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" she asked.

I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Weishalla nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," she said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She mumbled something else as she walked away. After she left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Santana askeed. I had the feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like she had heard my conversation with Rachel at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold," It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," she mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

She looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that—not straight out like she did, demanding.

"It's…complicated."

"I think I can keep up," she pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex, " she disagreed, but she was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

"And you don't like him," Santana surmised. Her tone still kind.

"No, Alex is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't fathom her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.

"Alex travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" she asked, smiling in response.

"Probably not. He doesn't play _well._ Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." She said it as an assumption again, not a question.

My chin raised a fraction. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."

Her eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," she admitted, and she seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy…so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Robert." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," she pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense.

I laughed without humor. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I _have_ heard that somewhere before," she agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.

Her gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," she said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I grimaced at her, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away.

"Am I wrong?"

I tried to ignore her.

"I didn't think so," she murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to _you_?" I asked, irritated. I keep my eyes away, watching the teacher make her rounds.

"That's a very good question," she muttered, so quietly that I wondered if she was talking to herself. However after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the onlyh answer I was going to get.

I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" she asked. She sounded amused.

I glanced at her without thinking…and told the truth again. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read—my mother always calls me her open book." I frowned.

"on the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and she'd guessed, she sounded like she meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," I replied.

"Usually." She smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultra white teeth.

Mrs. Weishalla called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. She'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mrs. Weishalla illustrated with transparencies on the overboard projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.

When the bell finally rang, Santana rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her in amazement.

Finn skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail.

"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Lopez for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly when his face took on the look of a little child's after someone stole their ice cream. "I've done the lab before, though," I added before he could get his feelings too hurt.

"Lopez seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it. I'm guessing Rachel let it slip about my being bi during one of her long rants and Finn now viewed Santana as a threat, just like Sam. I was getting sick of boys with doglike traits.

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with her last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Finn's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn't do much to hold my attention, either. Finn was on my team today. He was horrible at sports that didn't involve tackling other sweaty guys in twelve pounds of pads. I had to work extra hard to cover both his ground and mine.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed Santana Lopez leaning against the front door of the Mustang, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Mustang, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw her laughing.

**A.N. Wow, k, sorry I took so long but that's ALOT of writing. Hope you liked it though!**


	3. Phenomenon

_**A.N. **_**Sorry I haven't updated in forever but I've been really busy and yea, that's the normal excuse :P**

**Xadamjackson13- I'm glad you like it ^_^ I didn't really think too much over who will portray who in this but I'm glad you think it's worth reading :D**

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid—coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. The only time I'm ever uncoordinated is when the ground decides to try to kill my butt by making me fall, it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.

Robert had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Robert was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to schoolll, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Santana Lopez. And that was very, very stupid.

I should be avoiding her entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of her; why should she lie about her eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometime felt emanating from her, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured her perfect face. I was well aware that my league and her league were spheres that did not touch. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see her today.

It took ever ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Santana Lopez by thinking about Finn and Sam, and the obviousness of their infatuation with me. Surely I wasn't the only good looking person in the school they could flatter. Maybe it was just that the boys back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Whatever the reason, Finn's puppy dog behavior and Sam's apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer to be ignored.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck—carefully holding the side for support—to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Robert had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and Robert's unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

I was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Santana Lopez was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the ruck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me _again_.

A low oath made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize. Two long, tan hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the large van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the model-like hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Than her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt—exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Santana Lopez's frantic voice in my ear. "Brittany? Are you all right?" She removed her hand from the dent in the van to gently cup my face and I stared into her caramel warm eyes and it took a few second for me to remember how to formulate words.

"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized she was holding me against the side of her body in an iron grasp.

"Be careful," she warned, taking her hand away from my face as I struggled. "I think you hit our head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised.

"That's what I thought." Her voice, amazingly, sounded like she was suppressing laughter.

"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Brittany," she said, her tone serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time she let me, releasing her hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of her gold-colored eyes. What was I asking her?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Ryder out of the van!" someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Santana's cold hand pushed my shoulder down lightly.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when she chuckled under her breath. There was an edge to the sound.

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and her chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

Her expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.

"Brittany, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." She unleashed the full, devastating power of her eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

"No." I set my jaw.

The gold in her eyes blazed. "_Please_, Brittany."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Trust me," she pleaded, her soft voice overwhelming. I remembered how she had said she trusted me in Biology class and now she was only asking me to do the same.

I could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," she snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," I repeated angrily.

It took six EMT's and two teachers—Mr. Hanson and Mr. Riewer—to shift the van far enough away from us to ring the stretchers in. Santana vehemently refused hers, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Santana got to ride in the front. It was maddening.

To make matters worse, Chief Pierce arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Brittany!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher

"I'm completely fine, Rober—Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

He turned to the closes EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper—a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Santana's shoulder...as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame…

And then there was his family, looking on the distance, with expressions that range from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for their sisters safety.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen—a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane.

Naturally the ambulane got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Santana simply glided through the hospital doors under her own power. I ground my teeth together.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and thermometer under my tongue. Sine no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Ryder Lynn from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Ryder looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

"Brittany, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Ryder—you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

"Umm…Santana pulled me out of the way."

He looked confused. "Who?"

"Santana Lopez—she was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible liar; I didn't sound convincing at all.

"Lopez? I didn't see her… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"

"I think so. She's somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked I fi could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Ryder's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

"Is she sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Santana was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at her. It wasn't easy—it would have been more natural to ogle.

"Hey, Santana, I'm really sorr—" Ryder began.

Santana lifted a hand to top him.

"It's fine," she said, her tone of voice said the opposite. "Just be _very_ careful next time," she quickly glanced at me with a look I couldn't interpret. She moved to sit on the edge of Ryder's bed, facing me. She smiled.

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked me.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," I complained. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," she answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was brunette…and he was handsomer than any movie star I'd ever seen, even with his butt chin. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Santana's father.

"so, Miss Pierce," Dr. Fabray said in a remarkably appealing voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the light board on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Santana said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Santana who smiled sweetly back at me.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" he asked.

"Not really." I'd had worse.

I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Santana's patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with you eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imaging Robert trying to be attentive.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Santana. "Does _she_ get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Santana said smugly.

"Actually," Dr. Fabray corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Oh no," I moaned, covering my face with my hands.

Dr. Fabray raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, no!" I insisted trowing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly—I staggered, and Dr. Fabray caught me. He looked concerned.

"I'm fine," I assured him again.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he suggested as he steadied me.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flouriseh.

"Lucky Santana happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Fabray agreed, suddenly occupied with t papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Ryder, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.

"I'm afraid that _you'll_ have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Ryder, and began checking his cuts.

I looked over to where Santana had been seated and couldn't find her. Great, now I get to go get lost in the hospital looking for the waiting room.

I wave to Ryder as I pass his bed on my way to the door and turn to the left. I stop just as quickly. Santana is just down the hall arguing with her blonde sister and the boy who has more grace than I do. I can just barely make out their conversation.

"What," the blonde growls through her teeth, "you think this doesn't affect _all _of us. When will you stop being so insensitive Santana?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Santana counters, "let her die. It would have been way worse, and if you couldn't manage to do that what makes you think I could." She leans forward and looks into the blondes eyes trying to convey the full message in her words. I'm curious now, why would the blonde have been in the situation of letting someone die?

"I think," the graceful boy says, suddenly looking at me, "that we should continue this somewhere more _private._" The blonde and Santana suddenly look at me and I could swear the blonde growls. Santana looks over at her with a fierce look on her face and shakes her head as she advances towards me. Behind her the graceful boy grabs the blonde's shoulders and leads her away.

"What do you want?" she asks when she's in front of me.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I ask.

"Your father is waiting for you," she said through her teeth.

Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity than Id intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded her.

"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. "You promised."

"Brittany, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." Her tone was cutting.

My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at her. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

She glared back. "What do you _think_ happened?" She snapped.

It came out in a rush.

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me—Ryder didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both—and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it—and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all—and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up…" I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn't continue. I was so mad I could feel the tears coming; I tried to force the back by grinding my teeth together.

She was staring at me incredulously. But her face was tense, defensive.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" Her tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

I merely nodded once, jaw tight.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." Her voice held an edge of derision now.

"I'm not going to tell anybody." I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

Surprise flitted across her face. "Then why does it matter?"

"Itmatters to me," I insisted. "I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"No."

"In that case…I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by her livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly.

She paused, and for a brief moment her stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," she whispered.

And then she turned her back on me and walked away.

I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Robert rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. I was still aggravated, not in the mood for chitchat.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Fabray saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." I sighed. Finn, Rachel, and Sam were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Robert put on arm behind my back not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief—the first time I'd ever felt that way—to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thought that I barely knew Robert was there. I was positive that Santana's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre thing I still could hardly believe I'd witnessed.

When we got to the house, Robert finally spoke.

"Um…you'll need to call Katherine." He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. "You told Mom!"

"Sorry."

I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home—forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment—but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Santana presented. And more than a little obsess by Santana herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Robert continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted off to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamed of Santana Lopez.

_**A.N. Ugh and that was Stephanie Meyer's ONLY SHORT chapter. Sorry it took so long, it's actually really hard to turn Bella Swan into Brittany Pierce and still keep a little bit of their identities that I need for this story to work. But thanks for reading and I hope you liked it. Don't forget to review! :D**_


	4. Invitations

_**A.N. Hey guys/girls….it's the weekend, I have Psychology, Chemistry, and Algebra homework, so of course I'm gonna do the smart thing and write another chapter. Hope y'all like it :D**_

In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Santana's skin. I couldn't see her face, just her back as she walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Ryder was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Finn and Sam were even less friendly toward him than they were to each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan.

No one seemed concerned about Santana, though I explained over and over that she was the hero—how she had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Rachel, Finn, Sam, and everyone else always commented that they hadn't even seen her there till the van was pulled away.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen her standing so far away, before she was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the possible cause—no one else was as aware of Santana as I always was. No one else watched her the way I did. How pitiful.

Santana was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for her firsthand account. People avoided her as usual. The Hummel boy, the Fabrays' and the Lopezs' sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves. None of them, especially Santana, glanced my way anymore.

When she sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, she seemed totally unaware of my presence. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up and clench against her thighs, did I wonder if she wasn't quite as oblivious as she appeared.

She wished she hadn't pulled me from the path of Ryder's van—there was no other conclusion I could come to and while I knew it made me sound like she was out to murder me, I had a gut feeling that that was the truth.

I wanted very much to talk to her, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen her, outside the ER, we'd both been so furious. I still was angry that she wouldn't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But she had in fact saved my life, no matter how she'd done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude.

She was already seated when I got to biology, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting her to turn toward me. She showed no sign that she realized I was there.

"Hello, Santana," I said pleasantly, to show her I was going to behave myself.

She turned her head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way.

And that was the last contact I'd had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself—from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as her golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. But in class I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my e-mails alerted Kate to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.

Finn, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I could see he'd been worried that Santana's daring rescue might have impressed me, and he was relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Santana as completely as she ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Finn was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

Rachel made me aware of another event looming on the horizon—she called the first Tuesday of March to ask my permission to invite Finn to the girl's choice spring dance in two weeks.

"Are you sure you don't mind. You weren't planning to ask him were you? Because I've seen the obvious _attraction_ between you two and although I bear no ill will towards you I do not wish to put you in a compromising situation by making you choose your _best_ friend over a boy." She persisted when I told her I didn't mind in the least.

"No, Rach, I'm not going," I assured her. Although I loved to dance, I would just feel like an outcast among all the other couples.

"But it will be really fun. We've hired a local band who are very promising and although I'm sure there vocals lack someone with my abilities I'm sure they will still be quite good." I could tell her attempt to convince me was halfhearted when she replied with half of a paragraph instead of a full one. I suspected that Rachel enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my actual company. At least when it came to Finn, I briefly debated telling her I wasn't into any _guys_ at the moment.

"You have fun with Finn," I encouraged.

The next day, I was surprised that Rachel wasn't her usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. If Finn had turned her down, I was the last person she would want to tell.

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Rachel sat as far from Finn as possible, chatting animatedly with Sam. Finn was unusually quiet.

Finn was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn't broach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Santana sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if she were merely in invention of my imagination.

"So," Finn said, looking at the floor, "Rachel asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Rachel."

Well…." He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. "I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved he hadn't given her an absolute no.

His face was bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve when he looked back up with those puppy dog eyes.

"I was wondering if…well, if you might be planning to ask me."

I paused for a moment, hating the wave of gilt that swept through me. But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Santana's head tilt reflexively in my direction.

"Finn, I think you should tell her yes," I said.

"Did you already ask someone or did you...did you get asked already" Did Santana notice how Finn's eyes flickered in her direction?

"No," I assured him. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

"Why not?" Finn demanded.

I didn't want to get into my pathetic feelings of being left out, so I quickly made new plans.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway—it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

"Can't you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Rach wait any longer—it's rude."

"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mrs. Weishalla began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

And Santana was staring at me curiously, the same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in her black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look quickly away. But instead she continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.

"Miss. Lopez?" the teacher called, seeking answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Santana answered, seeming reluctant as she turned to look at Mrs. Weishalla.

I looked down at my book as soon as her eyes released me, trying to find my place. Cowardly as ever, I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to hide my face. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me—just because she's happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow her to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be aware of her for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to her to gather my things, expecting her to leave immediately as usual.

"Brittany?" her voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it my whole life rather than for just a few short weeks.

I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I knew I _would_ feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to her; her expression was unreadable. She didn't say anything.

"What? Are you speaking to me again?" I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice.

Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. "No, not really," she admitted.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. I was so annoyed by her but at the same time I wanted to do anything to get her to smile at me. She waited while I tried to sort out my emotions that were surely playing across my face.

"Then what do you want, Santana?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to her coherently that way.

"I'm sorry." She sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

I opened my eyes. Her face was very serious.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice guarded.

"It's better if we're not friends," she explained. "Trust me."

My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that before.

"You know when people say that they should actually follow through with what they add it to. It's too bad you didn't figure all this out earlier," I hissed through my teeth. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret?" The word, and my tone, obviously caught her off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not just letting that stupid van squish me."

She was astonished, staring at me in disbelief.

When she finally spoke, she almost sounded mad. "You think I regret saving your life?"

"I _know_ you do," I snapped.

"You don't know _anything_." She was definitely mad.

"Then enlighten me" I dared her, looking into those now black eyes.

She didn't reply only swallowed and looked away towards Mrs. Weishalla getting ready for her next class with a fuming expression. I turned my head sharply away from her, clenching my jaw against all the wild accusations I wanted to hurl at her. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of the room, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the doorjamb and dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up. She was already there and had them stacked into a pile. She handed them to me, her face hard.

"Thank you," I said icily.

Her eyes narrowed.

"You're welcome," she retorted.

I straightened up swiftly, turned away from her again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball and people always assumed that because of my height I was amazing at this sport when in reality it was one of the few I actually sucked at. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Santana. I tried to concentrate but she kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed to focus.

For once it was a relief to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. I had to replace the taillights, and if I'd had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Ryder's parents had to sell their van for parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Sam. I started walking again.

"Hey Sam," I called.

"Hi, Brittany."

"What's up?" I said as I was unlocking the door. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.

"Uh, I was just wondering…if you would go to the spring dance with me?" His voice broke on the last word.

"I thought it was girl's choice," I said, too startled to be diplomatic.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, shamefaced.

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. "Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

"Oh," he said. "Well, maybe next time."

"Sure," I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn't want him to take that too literally.

He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low chuckle.

Santana was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, her lips pressed together. I yanked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. Santana was in her car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. She stopped there—to wait for her family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of her shiny Mustang, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly being me, Ryder was in his recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge him.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Ryder. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. His car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got if halfway down, then gave up.

"I'm sorry, Ryder, I'm stuck behind Lopez." I was annoyed—obviously the holdup wasn't my fault.

"Oh, I know—I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." He grinned.

This could not be happening.

"Will you ask me to the spring dance?" he continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Ryder." My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn't his fault that Finn and Sam had already used up my quota of patience for the day.

"Yeah, Finn said that," he admitted.

"Then why—"

He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."

Okay, it was completely his fault. I _almost_ put my truck into reverse with the excuse that it simply _rolled_ into his car on accident.

"Sorry, Ryder," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

And before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Kurt, Quinn, Puck, and Blaine all sliding into the Mustang. In her rearview mirror, Santana's eyes were on me. She was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if she'd heard every word Ryder had said. My foot itched toward the gas pedal…one little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy red paint job. _Wow_, I thought to myself, _I have _got _to see somebody about my new passion for destroying people's vehicles. _Still, I revved the engine anyway.

But they were all in, and Santana was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to try to make chicken enchiladas for dinner, via YouTube again. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Robert or mom.

I pushed pause on the laptop and answered the phone. It was Rachel, and she was jubilant; Finn had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I put the phone between my shoulder and ear, hit the play button, and stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call Mercedes and Kitty to tell them. I suggested with casual innocence—that maybe Mercedes, the nice girl who had kept telling me her name when I was still trying to figure everything out, could take Sam. And Kitty, the popular girl that I couldn't believe actually hung out with Rachel and always ignored me at the lunch table, could take Ryder; I'd heard he was still available. Rach thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of Finn, she actually sounded sincere when she said she wished I would go to the dance. I gave her my Seattle excuse.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner—dicing the chicken especially; I didn't want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Santana had spoken toady. What did she mean, it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach twisted as I realize what she must have meant. She must see how absorbed I was by her; she must not want to lead me on…I wasn't even sure if she was gay or not…so we couldn't even be friends because she wasn't interested in me at all.

Of course she wasn't interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging—a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn't _interesting_. And she was. Interesting...and brilliant…and mysterious…and perfect…and beautiful…and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

Well, that was fine. I could leave her alone. I _would_ leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven, remembering to turn it on this time.

Robert seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. I couldn't blame him—two days ago I'd tried making salsa and had used to wrong kind of peppers, causing him to chug half a gallon of milk after his first two bites. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it this time and it caused me to smile.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Brittany?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday…if that's okay?" I didn't want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent—but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.

"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited—and maybe look at some clothes." I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Robert, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn't cost me quite a bit in the gas department.

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.

"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia—and Tacoma if I have to."

"Are you going all by yourself?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was suspicious I had a secret boyfriend or just worried about car trouble.

"Yes."

"Seattle is a big city—you could get lost," he fretted.

"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror.

"That's all right, Dad, I'll probably just be in dressing rooms all day—very boring."

"Oh, okay." The thought of sitting in women's clothing stores for any period of time immediately put him off.

"Thanks." I smiled at him.

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

Grrr. Only in a town this small would a _father_ know when the high school dances were.

"No—I don't really feel like going alone, Dad." He immediately started to look concerned.

"Well, isn't there any boys or um…girls you can go with?" My father knew about my being attracted to whoever I ended up being attracted to but it still made him a little uncomfortable to talk about.

"No, no one who I really want to go with anyway." I smiled trying to convey that it was ok.

He frowned but looked at me with understanding, "Well, ok. But just make sure you get out there ok? You're a beautiful girl and anyone would be lucky to have you." He got up with a sigh and put his plate in the sink then kissed my forehead before going into the living room to watch a sports game. I got up and did the dishes before going to bed.

The next morning it was raining, and when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the red Mustang. I didn't want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing her a new car. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a tan hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Santana Lopez was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

"How do you _do _that?" I asked in amazed irritation.

"Do what?" she held my key out as she spoke. As I reached for it, she dropped it into my palm

"Appear out of thin air."

"Brittany, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." Her voice was quiet as usual—velvet, muted.

I scowled at her perfect face. Her eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

"Why the traffic jam last night?" I demanded, still looking away. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist, not irritating me to death."

"That was for Ryder's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." She snickered.

"You…" I gasped. I couldn't think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn her, but she only seemed more amused.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," she continued.

"So you _are_ trying to irritate me to death? Since Ryder's van didn't do the job?"

Anger flashed in her tawny eyes. Her lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

"Brittany, you are utterly absurd," she said, her voice low and cold.

My palms tingled—I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I was usually a nonviolent person. I turned my back and started to walk away.

"Wait," she called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But she was next to me, easily keeping pace.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," she said as we walked. I ignored her. "I'm not saying it wasn't true," she continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," she chuckled. She seemed to have recovered her good humor. I swear she was more bipolar than Lord Tubbington, the cat I had back in Phoenix, when he was on drugs.

"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?" I asked severely, voicing my thoughts.

"You're doing it again."

I sighed. "Fine then. What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"

"Are you trying to be _funny_?" I interrupted her, wheeling toward her.

Her eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn't do anything rash.

"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

That was unexpected.

"What?" I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

"With who?" I asked, mystified.

"Myself, obviously." She said, flashing me an extremely white smile.

It didn't help my already short-circuited brain. "_Why?"_

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern." I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger at her for insulting my baby.

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" She matched my pace again.

"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Mustang owner.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business. And, to be honest again, I really want to spend more time with you."

"Honestly, Santana." I felt a thrill go through me as I said her name, and I hated it. "I can't keep up with you I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, thanks, now that that's _all_ cleared up." Heavy sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at her face without having rain run down my face. Which didn't help my clarity of thought.

"It would be more…_prudent_ for you not to be my friend," she explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Brittany."

Her eyes were gloriously intense as she uttered that last sentence, her voice smoldering as she said my name. I couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Will you go with me to Seattle?" she asked, still intense.

I couldn't speak yet, so I just nodded.

She smiled briefly, and then her face became serious as she leaned down to whisper into my ear.

"You really _should_ stay away from me," she warned.

With that, she turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd came.

_**A.N. wow, you'd never guess how many typos there is in the **__**Twilight**__** book. Seriously, try copying it sometime, she forgets a lot of minor details. Also, Edward's a jerk, just saying. He makes Bella out to be mentally retarded then gives her mixed signals, ugh, I'm so glad I'm gay, guys are so complicated and insensitive sometimes…k enough ranting imma go to bed, goodnight or good morning wherever you are **_


	5. Blood Type

_**A.N. whoa look at that two in one day. My teachers are gonna kill me for procrastinating so badly. I have to apologize for making Kitty be Lauren but I couldn't think of anyone who disliked Brittany like Lauren disliked Bella and whom I wasn't going to use later. If anyone has a different idea I'll add it in later if it fits.**_

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Pierce," Mr. Lence said, than in a terminator voice, "take out your book and follow along if you want to learn."

I flushed and mentally rolled my eyes, hurrying to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Finn wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guild. But he and Sam both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally un-forgiven. Finn seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Santana had said, and the way her eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to her on any level.

So I was impatient and frightened as Rachel and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see her face, to see if she'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Rachel babbled on and on about her dance planes—Kitty and Mercedes had asked the other boys and they were all going together—completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on her table. The other four were there, but she was absent. Had she gone home? I followed the still-babbling Rachel through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite—I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Santana Lopez is staring at you again," Rachel said, finally breaking through my abstraction with her name. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Santana, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Once she'd caught my eye, she raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared in disbelief, she winked.

"Does she mean _you_?" Rachel asked with insulting astonishment in her voice. Was Rachel jealous? Surely she wasn't gay, what with wanting Finn so badly, but maybe my gaydar was broke.

"Maybe she needs help with her Biology homework," I muttered for her benefit. "Um, I'd better go see what she wants."

I could feel her staring after me as I walked away.

When I reached her table, I stood behind the chair across from her, unsure.

"Do you want to sit with me today?" she asked, smiling.

I sat down automatically, watching her with caution. She was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that she might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"Are you gay?" I blurted out without thinking than mentally face palmed myself. Of all the things to start a conversation off with.

Lucky for me, she just smiled, showing her teeth and nodded, my gaydar was definitely broke. Great, now that I knew I had a shot, I was getting even more nervous. I briefly wondered why she didn't ask me the same question than remembered that with Rachel's mouth, the whole school probably already knew. That would also explain Finn's glaring at Santana.

"This is different," I finally managed, my cheeks felt like they were on fire.

"Well…" She paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided that as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

I waited for her to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by.

"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.

"I know." She smiled again and then she changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back.

"I may not give you back, though," she said with a wicked glint in her eyes.

I gulped, the thought of Santana keeping me for herself had my heart pounding harder and I swear she could hear it.

She laughed. "You look worried."

"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually…what brought all this on?"

"I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." She was still smiling. But her ocher eyes were serious.

"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." Her smile faded as she explained, and a hard edge crept into her voice.

"You lost me again."

The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry—I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.

"I'm counting on that."

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…," she mused, dubious.

"Or not," I muttered.

She grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind her smile, the warning was real.

"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even.

"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, which you undoubtedly are, you'll avoid me."

"So, as long as I'm being…not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.

"That sounds about right."

I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

"What are you thinking?" she asked curiously.

I looked up into her deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

Her jaw tightened, but she kept her smile in place with some effort.

"Are you having any luck with that?" she asked in an offhand tone.

"Not too much," I admitted.

She chuckled. "What are your theories?"

I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker but in female form. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

"Won't you tell me?" she asked, tilting her head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.

I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's _really_ frustrating, you know," she complained.

"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't _imagine_ why that would be frustrating at all—just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possible mean…now, why would that be frustrating?"

She grimaced.

"Or better, I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things—from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised. That, also, would be _very_ non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

"I don't like double standards."

We stared at each other, unsmiling.

She glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, she snickered.

"What?"

"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you—he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight."

"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course."

"Yes. Except for you." Her mood shifted suddenly; her eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away from the intensity of her stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, distracted.

"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full—of butterflies. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of her.

"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand her expression—it looked like she was enjoying some private joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.

She was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I assured her.

She waited, guarded but curious.

"I just wondered…if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"That sounds fair." She was pressing her lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up and I had the sudden urge to kiss her. I fought against it.

"Thanks."

"Then can I have one answer in return?" she demanded.

"One."

"Tell me _one _theory."

Whoops. "Not that one."

"You didn't specify, you just promised one answer," she reminded me.

"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded her back.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.

She looked down, and then glanced up at me through her long black lashes, her ocher eyes scorching.

"Please?" she breathed, leaning toward me.

I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crap, how did she _do_ that?

"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.

"Please tell me just one little theory." Her eyes still smoldered at me.

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

"That's not very creative," she scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.

"You're not even close," she teased.

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radioactivity?"

"None."

"Dang," I sighed.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," she chuckled.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

She struggled to compose her face.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned her.

"I wish you wouldn't try." She was serious again.

"Because…?"

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" She smiled playfully, but her eyes were impenetrable.

"Oh," I said, as several things she'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."

"Do you?" Her face was abruptly severe, as if she were afraid that she'd accidentally said too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. She _was_ dangerous. She'd been trying to tell me that all along.

She just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad. Everybody else might think you are, but you're not a bad person."

"You're wrong." Her voice was almost inaudible. She looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between her fingers. I stared at her, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. She meant what she was saying—that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge…and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near her.

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."

"I'm not going to class today," she said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." She smiled up at me, but her eyes were still troubled.

"Well, I'm going," I told her. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.

She turned her attention back to her makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door—with a last glance confirming that she hadn't moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.

I was lucky; Mrs. Weishalla wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Finn and Mercedes were staring at me. Finn looked resentful; Mercedes looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mrs. Weishalla came in the room then, calling the class to order. She was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in her arms. She put them down on Finn's table, telling him to start passing them around the class and to _please_ not drop anything.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take on piece from each box," she said as she produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of her lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against her wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," she went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator—" she held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "—and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." She held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." She began at Finn's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" She grabbed Finn's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Finn's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." She demonstrated, squeezing Finn's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.

"And then apply it to the card," she finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." She sounded proud of herself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission—I have slips at my desk."

She continued through the room with her water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Brittany are you all right?" Mrs. Weishalla asked. Her voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mrs. Weishalla," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone take Brittany to the nurse, please?" she called.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Finn who volunteered

"Can you walk?" Mrs. Weishalla asked.

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

Finn seemed eager to put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.

Finn towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mrs. Weishalla was watching, I stopped.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

"Wow, you're green, Brittany," Finn said nervously.

"Brittany?" a different voice called from the distance.

No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong—is she hurt? What did you do?" Her voice was closer now, and she sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

Finn seemed stressed. "I didn't do anything. I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger."

"Brittany." Santana's voice was right beside me, relieved now, and a cool hand cupped my face. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned leaning into the hand. "Go, away."

She chuckled.

"I was taking her to the nurse," Finn explained in a defensive tone, "but she wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take her," Santana said. I could hear the smile still in her voice. "You can go back to class."

"No," Finn protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Santana had scooped me up in her arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten. But I suppose when you can lift up vans a person is nothing.

"Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on her. She was walking before I was finished talking.

"Hey!" Finn called, already ten paces behind us.

Santana ignored him. "You look awful," she told me grinning.

"Put me back on the side walk," I moaned. The rocking movement of her walk was not helping. She noticed and held me closer to her. She must have been standing around outside because she was freezing.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" she asked. This seemed to entertain her.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together. "And not even your own blood." I turned my head into her neck and felt her tense.

I don't know how she opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.

"She fainted in Biology," Santana explained.

I turned away from her neck and opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Santana was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of her to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Santana swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then she moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. Her eyes were bright, excited.

"She's just a little faint," she reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

She muffled a snicker.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Santana coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," she told her.

"I'm supposed to stay with her." She said this with such assured authority that—even though she pursed her lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching _is_ healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," she admitted after a pause. Her tone made it sound like she was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Hudson was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Ha ha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"Poor Finn. I'll bet he's mad."

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if she could.

"I saw his face—I could tell."

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—it surprised me. But then why was she so cold?

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.

"We've got another one, she warned.

I hopped down to free up the bed for the next invalid.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then Finn staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow looking Jake Puckerman, another boy in our Biology class. Santana and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no," Santana muttered. "Go out to the office, Brittany."

I looked up at her, bewildered.

"Trust me—go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Santana right behind me.

"You actually listened to me." She was stunned.

"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Jake wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.

"People can't smell blood," she contradicted.

"Well, I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust…and salt."

She was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Finn came through the door then, glancing from me to Santana. The look he gave Santana confirmed what Santana had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.

"_You_ look better," he accused.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess…so are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Santana, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my mom's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Santana again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.'

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again…in Gym.

"Gym," I groaned.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Santana moving to my side, but she spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," she muttered.

That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting spells always exhausted me.

I heard Santana speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

"Brittany has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" Her voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming her eyes would be.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Santana?" Mr. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?

"No, I have Mrs. Schuller, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Brittany," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With her back to the receptionist, her expression became sarcastic.

"I'll walk."

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. She held the door for me, her smile polite but her eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice—the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky—as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

"Thanks," I said as she followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym right now."

"Anytime." She was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping she would though it seemed unlikely. The image of Santana in a bikini was one that attacked my dreams every now and then but I couldn't picture her loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; she didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that she might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going, exactly?" She was still looking ahead, expressionless.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach." I studied her face, trying to read it. Her eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."

I sighed. "I just invited you."

"Let's you and I not push poor Finn any further this week. We don't want him to snap." Her eyes danced; she was enjoying the idea more than she should.

"Finn-schminn," I muttered, preoccupied by the way she'd said "you and I." I like it more than _I_ should.

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, outraged. She was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.

I was confused. "I'm going home."

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" Her voice was still indignant.

"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained.

"I'll have Puck drop it off after school." She was towing me toward her car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. She'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.

"Puck?" I was confused.

"Noah's nickname," she explained still pulling me along. I wondered why but I'd ask that when I wasn't focused on falling on my butt.

"Let go!" I insisted. She ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Mustang. When she finally freed me—I stumbled against the passenger door.

"You are so _pushy_!" I grumbled.

"It's open," was all she responded, smiling as she got in the driver's side.

"I'm perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up so my hair was dripping down my back.

She lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Brittany."

I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before she could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.

"I'll just drag you back," she threatened, guessing my plan.

I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into her car. I wasn't very successful—I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked

"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.

She didn't answer. She fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As she pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give her the silent treatment—my face in full pout mode—but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.

"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.

"You know, Debussy?" She sounded surprised, too.

"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house—I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." She stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

I listened to the music, realizing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What is your mother like?" she asked me suddenly.

I glanced over to see her studying me with curious eyes.

"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. She raised her eyebrows. "I have too much Robert in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I dropped. Talking about her was making me depressed.

"How old are you, Brittany?" Her voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. She'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Robert's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

"You don't seem seventeen."

Her tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

"What?" she asked, curious again.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted.

She made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Alex?"

I was surprised she would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mother…she's very young for her age. I think Alex makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.

"Do you approve?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy…and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous…I wonder," she mused.

What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" She was suddenly intent, her eyes searching mine.

"I-I think so," I stuttered. "She knows that I'm going to date whoever I'm attracted to. But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"No one too scary then," she teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?"

But she ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that _I_ could be scary?" She raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened her face.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm…I think you _could_ be, if you wanted to."

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and her heavenly face was suddenly serious.

"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract her. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

She was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Fabrays adopted you?" I verified.

"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Will and Emma have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way she spoke of them.

"Yes." She smiled. "Don't tell them this but I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"And your brother?"

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother, and Blaine, Kurt, and Quinn for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Pierce gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology accident." She grinned at me.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.

She laughed, and there was edge to her laughter.

"Have fun at the beach…good weather for sunbathing." She glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No, Puck and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" a friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

I remembered Robert had said the Fabrays went camping frequently.

"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled her though. A smile was playing around the edges of her lips.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" She turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of her burning gold eyes.

I nodded helplessly.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So…just…be safe ok?" She was so close to me I could feel her breath on my face.

I nodded looking back and forth between her eyes and her lips. When she leaned away from me abruptly I snap out of my stupor and reach for the door. I get out and run to my house, when I reach the porch I turn around and watch as she turns around and heads out of the driveway and back towards school.

_**A.N. Ugh what is with Edward repeatedly calling Bella stupid? Why did I ever like this book? Sorry, I'm having Brittana withdrawals and it's affecting my feels. Anyway be sure to check out the author bobbieyoung and REVIEW!**_


	6. Scary Stories

_**A.N. oh my glee you guys. Have you heard Naya singing "That Girl Is On Fire", "Nutbush City Limits", and "Make No Mistake, That Girl Is Mine" yet? Freakin mind blowing, I mean she usually is but wow. And I don't get to watch "Diva" because I have a basketball game :'( so you guys just watch it for me and cry over how amazing the Brittana scenes are going to be ok? Thanks.**_

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of _Macbeth_, I was really listening for my truck. I would have thought, even over the pounding rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But when I went to peek out the curtain—again—it was suddenly there.

I wasn't looking forward to Friday and it more than lived up to my non-expectations. Of course there were the fainting comments. Rachel especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Finn had kept his mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Santana's involvement. She did have a lot of questions about lunch, though.

"So what did Santana Lopez want yesterday?" Rachel asked in Trig.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "She never really got to the point."

"You looked kind of mad," she fished.

"Did I?" I kept my expression blank.

"You know, I've never seen her sit with anyone but her family before. That was weird."

"Weird," I agreed. She seemed annoyed; she flipped her bangs impatiently—I guessed she'd been hoping to hear something that would make a good story for her to pass on.

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew she wasn't going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Rachel and Finn, I couldn't keep from looking at her table, where Quinn, Kurt, and Blaine sat talking, heads close together. And I couldn't stop the gloom that engulfed me as I realized I didn't know how long I would have to wait before I saw her again.

At my usual table, everyone was full of our plans for the next day. Finn was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised sun tomorrow. I'd have to see that before I believed it. But it was warmer today—almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn't be completely miserable.

I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from Kitty during lunch, which I didn't understand until we were all walking out of the room together. I was right behind her, just a foot from her slick, silver blond hair, and she was evidently unaware of that.

"…don't know why _Brittany_"—she sneered my name—"doesn't just sit with the Fabrays from now on," I heard her muttering to Finn. I'd never noticed what an unpleasant voice she had, and I was surprised by the malice in it. I really didn't know her well at all, certainly not well enough for her to dislike me—or so I'd thought.

"She's my friend; she sits with us," Finn whispered back loyally, but also a bit territorially. I paused to let Rachel and Mercedes pass me. I didn't want to hear any more.

That night at dinner, Robert seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekends, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course he knew the names of all the kids going, and their parents, and their great-grandparents, too, probably. He seemed to approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Santana Lopez. Not that I was going to tell him.

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think its south of Mount Rainier," I asked casually.

"Yeah—why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears. Most people go there during the hunting season."

"Oh," I murmured. "Maybe I got the name wrong."

I meant to sleep in, but an unusual brightness woke me. I opened my eyes to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window. I couldn't believe it. I hurried to the window to check, and sure enough, there was the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too low, and it didn't seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun. Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was visible in the middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could; afraid that if I left the blue would disappear again.

The Hudsons' Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen the store, but I'd never stopped there—not having much need for any supplies required for being outdoors over an extended period of time. In the parking lot I recognized Finn's Suburban and Ryder's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group along with two other boys I had class with; I was fairly sure their names were Ben and Conner. Rachel was there, flanked by Mercedes and Kitty. Three other girls stood with them, including one I remembered hitting in the face with a basketball in Gym on Thursday. That one gave me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and whispered something to Kitty. Kitty shook out her cornsilk hair and eyed me scornfully.

So it was going to be one of _those_ days.

At least Finn was happy to see me. I could always count on my golden retriever.

"You came!" he called, delighted. "And I said it would be sunny today, didn't I?" He reminded me of a little boy whose favorite relative had shown up and told him he had grown a few inches…or, in Finn's case, feet...and he wanted to impress them.

"I told you I was coming," I reminded him.

"We're just waiting for Jake and Katie…unless you invited someone," Finn added.

"Nope," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught in the lie. But also wishing that a miracle would occur, and Santana would appear.

Finn looked satisfied.

"Will you ride in my car? It's that or Katie's mom's minivan."

"Sure."

He smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Finn happy.

"You can have shotgun," he promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn't as simple to make Finn and Rachel happy at the same time. I could see Rachel glowering at us now.

The numbers worked out in my favor, though. Katie brought two extra people, and suddenly every seat was necessary. I managed to wedge Rach in between Finn and me in the front seat of the Suburban. Finn could have been more graceful about it, but at least Rach seemed appeased.

It was only fifteen mile to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute River snaking beneath it twice. I was glad I had the window seat. We'd rolled the windows down—the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine people in it—and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible.

I'd been to beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Robert, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves.

There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a long eagle wheeled above them. The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue sky.

We picked out war down to the beach, Finn leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Sam and the boy I though was named Ben gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Finn asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches; the other girls clustered, gossiping excitedly, on either side of me. Finn kneeled by the fire, lighting on of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter.

"No," I said as he placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.

"You'll like this then—watch the colors." He lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood.

"It's blue," I said in surprise.

"The salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" He lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully, Rach was on his other side. She turned to him and claimed his attention. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky.

After a half hour of chatter, some of the boys wanted to hike to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved the tide pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad. It reminded me of Santana's request—that I be safe. I figured that falling into the ocean would be considered very non-safe.

Kitty was the one who made my decision for me. She didn't want to hike, and she was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Most of the other girls besides Mercedes and Rachel decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Ryder and Sam had committed to remaining with them before I got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. Finn gave me a huge smile when he saw that I was coming.

The hike wasn't too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I soon fell behind. Eventually I broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to the sea. Along it pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely drained, were teeming with life.

I was very cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish struck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind that wondered what Santana was doing now, and trying to imagine what she would be saying if she were here with me.

Finally the boys were hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell a few ties. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms and the knees of my jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we got closer we could see the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation, come to socialize.

The food was already being passed around, and the boys hurried to claim a share while Sam introduced us as we each entered the driftwood circle. Mercedes and I were the last to arrive, and, as Sam said our names, I noticed one of the boys sitting on the stones near the fire glance up at me in interest. I sat down next to Mercedes, and Finn brought us sandwiches and an array of sodas to choose from, while the boy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattles off the names of the seven other with him. All I caught was that one of the girls was also named Rachel, and the boy who noticed me was named Mike.

It was relaxing to sit with Mercedes; she was a restful kind of person to be around—she didn't feel the need to fill every silence with chatter. She left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As the finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Finn—with Rachel shadowing him—headed up to the one shop in the village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Kitty and Ryder occupying themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring, and three teenagers from the village perched around the circle, including the boy named Mike and the oldest boy who had acted as a spokesperson.

A few minutes after Mercedes left with the hikers, Mike sauntered over to take her place by my side. He looked sixteen maybe seventeen, and had short black hair that just barely hung into his eyes. He was clearly Asian and his eyes were dark. Although he had looked sixteen, there was no childish roundness left on his face or body which made me think that he had matured early. Altogether, a very pretty face.

"You're Brittany Pierce, aren't you?" he asked, a goofy grin on his face.

"Mhm" I nodded, looking into what was left of the beautiful fire.

"I'm Mike Chang." He held out his hand in a friendly gesture. "You bought my dad's truck."

"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking his sleek hand. "You're Michael's son. I probably should remember you."

Mike laughed, "Yea probably, but you'd remember my older sisters better."

"Riley and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Robert and Michael had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I'd kicked up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven.

"Are they here?" I examined the girls at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would recognize them now.

"No." Mike shook his head. "Riley got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer—she lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was.

"So how do you like the truck?" he asked.

"I love it. It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," he laughed." I was so relieved when Robert bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," I objected.

"Have you tried to go over sixty?"

"No," I admitted.

"Good. Don't." He grinned.

I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," he agreed with another laugh.

"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed.

"Sometimes, when I have the free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" he added jokingly. He had a pleasant voice.

"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." As if I knew what that was. He was very easy to talk with.

He flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was learning to recognize. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Brittany, Mike?" Kitty asked—in what I imagined was an insolent tone—from across the fire.

"We've sort of known each other since I was born," he laughed, smiling at me again.

"How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her pale eyes narrowed.

"Brittany," she called again, watching my face carefully, "I was just saying to Ryder that it was too bad none of the Fabrays could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?" Her expression of concern was unconvincing.

"You mean Dr. William Fabray's family?" the tall, older boy asked before I could respond, much to Kitty's irritation. He was really closer to a man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.

"Yes, do you know them?" she asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward him.

"The Fabray's don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring her question.

Ryder, trying to win back her attention, asked Kitty's opinion on a CD he held. She was distracted.

I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He's said that the Fabrays didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more—that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.

Mike interrupted my meditation. "So if Forks driving you insane yet?"

"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I grimaced. He grinned understandingly.

I was still turning over the brief comment on the Fabrays and I had a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, but I didn't have any better ideas. I hoped that I had read Mike right when I thought he was slightly interested in me or I was going to look like an idiot.

"Do you want to walk down the beach with me" I asked, trying to imitate the way Santana had of looking up from underneath her eyelashes. It couldn't have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but Mike jumped up willingly enough.

As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.

"Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid he would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but he took it in grace.

"Not too much," he admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want." He amended.

"Who was that other boy Kitty was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us." I purposefully lumped myself in with youngsters, trying to make it clear that preferred Mike.

"That's Lane—he's nineteen," he informed me.

"What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked innocently.

"The Fabrays? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." He looked away, out towards James Island, as he confirmed what I'd though I'd heard in Lane's voice.

"Why not?"

He glanced back at me, biting his lip. "Oops. I'm not supposed to say anything about that."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I tried to make my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

He smiled back, though, looking allured. Then he lifted one eyebrow and his voice became husky.

"Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.

"I _love_ them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.

Mike strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree. He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

"So, _clearly_ I'm not Indian right?" he asks and I nod so he continues. "Well my great grandpa was or something like that, because my mom moved back here before she died to be with my dad's parents after her parents kicked her out. See, my mom's Asian and my dad's from here so he's Indian, and her parents were really strict about who she had to end up with. When she came down here with friends from Seattle, she met my dad, and, well, nine months later Riley and Rebecca were born."

I'm actually interested now; I never knew this about the Changs.

"So," he continues, "do you know any of the old stories about where my father's people, the Quileutes, came from?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood—supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves—and that the wolves are out brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them."

"Then there are the stories about the _cold ones_." His voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

"So as you see," Mike continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did—they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why…?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Fabrays? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the _same_ ones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, two new males, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, William. He'd been here and gone before _your _people had even arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What _are_ the cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face was exposing.

"You have goose bumps," he laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented him, still staring into the waves.

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at him yet. "Don't worry, I won't give you away."

"I guess I just violated the treaty," he laughed.

"I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then I shivered.

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Robert. He was pretty mad at my dad when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Fabray started working there."

"I won't, of course not."

"So do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" he asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean.

I turned and smiled at him as normally as I could.

"No. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" I held up my arm.

"Cool." He smiled.

And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Finn and Rachel about fifty yards away, walking towards us.

"There you are Brittany," Finn called in relief, waving his arm over his head.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Mike asked, alerted by the jealous edge in Finn's voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.

"No, definitely not," I whispered. I was tremendously grateful to Mike, and eager to make him as happy as possible. I winked at him, carefully turning away from Finn to do so. He smiled, elated by my inept flirting.

"So when I have the time to get into Forks…," he began.

"You should come see me. We could hang out sometime." I felt guilty as I said this, knowing that I'd used him. But I really did like Mike. He was someone I could easily be friends with.

Finn had reached us now, with Rachel still a few paces back. I could see his eyes appraising Mike. He looked worried that he was actually good looking.

"Where have you been?" he asked, though the answer was right in front of him.

"Mike was just telling me some local stories," I volunteered. "It was really interesting."

I smiled at Mike warmly, and he grinned back.

"Well," Finn paused, carefully reassessing the situation as he watched our camaraderie. "We're packing up—it looks like it's going to rain soon."

We all looked up at the glowering sky. It certainly did look like rain.

"Okay," I jumped up, "I'm coming."

"It was nice to see you _again,_" Mike said, and I could tell he was taunting Finn just a bit.

"It really was. Next time Robert comes down to see Michael, I'll come, too," I promised.

His grin stretched across his face. "That would be cool."

"And thanks," I added earnestly.

I pulled up my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Suburban the others were already loading everything back in. I crawled into the backseat by Mercedes and Ryder, announcing that I'd already had my turn in the shotgun position. Mercedes just star3ed out the window at the escalating storm, and Kitty twisted around in the middle seat to occupy Ryder's attention, so I could simply lay my head back on the seat and close my eyes and try very hard not to think.

_**A.N. Ugh sorry, that chapter might have sucked but it's 2 in the morning and I'm tired so eh. If you liked it, awesome, if you didn't, sorry. K, I'm going to sleep than I'm gonna try to upload this at school tomorrow so, night :)**_


	7. Nightmare

_**A.N. Hey sorry, but basketball is winding down now so I should have more time to write sooner or later. But I'll stop groveling for forgiveness and let you guys read this chapter…**_

I told Robert I had a lot of homework to do, and that I didn't want anything to eat. There was a basketball game on that he was excited about though, so I wasn't aware of anything unusual in my face or tone.

Once in my room, I looked the door. I dug through my desk until I found my old headphones, and I plugged them into my little CD player. I picked up a CD that Alex had given to me for Christmas. It was one of his favorite bands, but I was still iffy on whether or not they were good yet. I popped it into place and lay down on my bed. I put on the headphones, hit Play, and turned up the volume until it hurt my ears. I closed my eyes, but the light still intruded, so I added a pillow over the top half of my face.

I concentrated very carefully on the music, trying to understand the lyrics, to unravel the complicated drum patterns. By the third time I'd listened through the CD, I knew all the words to the choruses, at least. I was surprised to find that I really did like the band after all. I'd have to thank Alex again.

And it worked. The shattering beats made it impossible for me to think—which was the whole purpose of the singing along with all the songs, until, finally, I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes to a familiar place. Aware in some corner of my consciousness that I was dreaming, I recognized the green light of the forest. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere nearby. And I knew that I found the ocean, I'd be able to see the sun. I was trying to follow the sound, but then Mike Chang was there, tugging on my hand, pulling me back toward the blackest part of the forest.

"Mike? What's wrong?" I asked. His face was frightened as he yanked with all his strength against my resistance; I didn't want to go into the dark.

"Run, Brittany, you have to run!" he whispered, terrified.

"This way, Brittany!" I recognized Finn's voce calling out of the gloomy heart of the trees, but I couldn't see him.

"Why?" I asked, still pulling against Mike's grasp, desperate now to find the sun.

But Mike let go of my hand and yelped, suddenly shaking, falling to the dim forest floor. He twitched on the ground as I watched in horror.

"Mike!" I screamed. But he was gone. In his place was a large gray-black wolf with black eyes. The wolf faced away from me, pointing toward the shore, the hair on the back of his shoulders bristling, low growls issuing from between his exposed fangs.

"Brittany, run!" Finn cried out again from behind me. But I didn't turn. I was watching a light coming toward me from the beach.

And then Santana stepped out from the trees, her skin faintly glowing, her eyes black and dangerous. She held up one hand and beckoned me to come to her. The wolf growled at my feet.

I took a step forward, toward Santana. She smiled then, and her teeth were sharp, pointed.

"Trust me," she purred.

I took another step.

The wolf launched himself across the space between me and the vampire, fangs aiming for the jugular.

"No!" I screamed, wrenching upright out of my bed.

My sudden movement caused the headphones to pull the CD player off the bedside table, and it clattered to the wooden floor.

My light was still on, and I was sitting fully dressed on the bed, with my shoes on. I glanced, disoriented, at the clock on my dresser. It was five-thirty in the morning.

I groaned, fell back and rolled over onto my face, kicking off my boots. I was too uncomfortable to get anywhere near sleep, though. I rolled back over and unbuttoned my jeans, yanking them off awkwardly as I tried to stay horizontal. I could feel the braid in my hair, and uncomfortable ridge along the back of my skull. I turned onto my side and ripped the rubber band out, quickly combing through the plaits with my fingers. I pulled the pillow back over my eyes.

It was all no use, of course. My subconscious had dredged up exactly the images I'd been trying so desperately to avoid. I was going to have to face them now.

I sat up, and my head spun for a minute as the blood flowed downward. First things first, I thought to myself, happy to put it off as long as possible. I went into the bathroom t shower.

The shower didn't last nearly as long as I hoped it would, though. Even taking the time to blow-dry my hair, I was soon out of things to do in the bathroom. Wrapped in a towel, I crossed back to my room. I couldn't tell if Robert was still asleep, or if he had already left. I went to look out my window, and the cruiser was gone. Fishing again

I dressed slowly in my most comfy sweats and then made my bed—something I never did. I couldn't put it off any longer. I went to my desk and switched on my old computer.

I hated using the Internet here. My modem was sadly outdated, my free service substandard; just dialing up took so long that I decided to go get myself a bowl of cereal while I waited.

I ate slowly, chewing each bit with care. When I wa done, I washed the bowl and spoon, dried them, and put them away. My feet dragged as I climbed the stairs. I went to my CD player first, picking it up off the floor and placing it precisely in the corner of the table. I pulled out the headphones, and put them away in the desk drawer. Then I turned the same CD on, turning it down to the point where it was background noise.

With another sigh, I turned to my computer. Naturally, the screen was covered in pop-up ads. I sat in my hard folding chair and began closing all the little windows. Eventually I made it to my favorite search engine. I shot down a few more pop-ups and then typed in one word.

_Vampire._

It took an infuriatingly long time, of course. When the results came up, there was a lot to sift through—everything from movies and TV shows to role-playing games, underground metal, and gothic cosmetic companies.

Then I found a promising site—Vampires A-Z. I waited impatiently for it to load, quickly clicking closed each ad that flashed across the screen. Finally the screen was finished—simple white background with black text, academic-looking. Two quotes greeted me on the home page:

_Throughout the vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet dight with such fearful fascination, as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet who partakes the dark natures and possesses the mysterious and terrible qualities of both.—Rev. Montague Summers_

_If there is in this world a well-attested account, it is that of the vampires. Nothing is lacking: official reports, affidavits of well-known people, of surgeons, of priests, of magistrates; the judicial proof is most complete. And with all that, who is there who believes in vampires?—Rousseau _

The rest of the side was an alphabetized listing of all the different myths of vampires held throughout the world. The first I clicked on, the _Danag, _was a Filipino vampire supposedly responsible to plating taro on the islands long ago. The myth continued that the _Danag_ worked with humans for many years, but the partnership ended one day when a woman cut her finger and a _Danag_ sucked her wound, enjoying the taste so much that it drained her body completely of blood.

I read carefully through the descriptions, looking for anything that sounded familiar, let alone plausible. It seemed that most vampire myths centered around beautiful women as demons and children as victims; they also seemed like constructs created to explain away the high mortality rates for young children, and to give men and excuse for infidelity. Many of the stories involved bodiless spirits and warning against improper burials. There wasn't much that sounded like the movies I'd seen, and only a very few, like the Hebrew _Estrie _and the Polish _Upier, _who were even preoccupied with drinking blood.

Only three entries really caught my attention: the Romanian _Varacolaci,_ a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale skinned human, the Slovak _Nelapsi,_ a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in a single hour after midnight, and one other, the _Stregoni benefici._

About this last there was only one brief sentence.

_Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of all evil vampires._

It was a relief, that on small entry, the one myth among hundreds that claimed the existence of good vampires.

Overall, though, there was little coincided with Mike's stories or my own observations. I'd made a little catalogue in my mind as I'd read and carefully compared it with each myth. Speed, strength, beauty, pale skin, eyes that shift color; and then Mike's criteria: blood drinkers, enemies of the werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal. There were very few myths that matched even on factor.

And then another problem, one that I'd remembered from the small number of scary movies that I'd seen and was backed up by today's reading—vampires couldn't come out in the daytime, the sun would burn them to a cinder. They slept in coffins all day and came out only at night.

Aggravated, I snapped off the computer's main power switch, not waiting to shut things down properly. Though my irritation, I felt overwhelming embarrassment. It was all so stupid. I was sitting in my room, researching vampires. What was wrong with me? I decided that most of the blame belonged on the doorstep of the town of Forks—and the entire sodden Olympic Peninsula, for that matter.

I had to et out of the house, but there was nowhere I wanted to go that didn't involve a three-day drive. I pulled on my boots anyway, unclear where I was headed, and went downstairs. I shrugged into my raincoat without checking the weather and stomped out the door.

It was overcast, but not raining yet. I ignored my truck and started east on foot, angling across Robert's yard toward the ever-encroaching forest. It didn't take long till I was deep enough for the house and the road to be invisible, for the only sound to be the squish of the damp earth under my feet and the sudden cries of the jays.

There was a thin ribbon of a trail that led through the forest here, or I wouldn't risk wandering on my own like this. My sense of direction was hopeless; I could get lost in much less helpful surroundings. The trail wound deeper and deeper into the forest, mostly east as far as I could tell. It snaked around the Sitka spruces and the hemlocks, the yews and the maples. I only vaguely knew the names of the trees around me, and all I knew was due to Robert pointing them out to me from the cruiser window in earlier days. There were many I didn't know, and others I couldn't be sure about because they were so covered in green parasites.

I followed the trail as long as my anger at myself pushed me forward. As that started to ebb, I slowed. A few drops of moisture trickled down from the canopy above me, but I couldn't be certain if it was beginning to rain of if it was simply pools left over from yesterday, held high in the leaves above me, slowly dripping their way back to the earth. A recently fallen tree—I knew it was recent because t wasn't entirely carpeted in moss—rested against the trunk of one of her sisters, creating a sheltered little bench just a few safe feet off the trail. I stepped over the ferns and sat carefully, making sure my jacket was between the damp seat and my clothes wherever they touched, and leaned my hooded head back against the living tree.

This was the wrong place to have come. I should have known, but where else was there to go? The forest was deep green and far too much like the scene in last night's dream to allow for peace of mind. Now that there was no longer the sound of my soggy footsteps, the silence was piercing. The birds were quiet, too, the drops increasing in frequency, so it must be raining above. The ferns stood higher than my head, now that I was seated, and I knew someone could walk by on the path, three feet away, and not see me.

Here in the trees it was much easier to believe the absurdities that embarrassed me indoors. Nothing had changed in this forest for thousands of years, and all the myths and legends of a hundred different lands seemed much more likely in this green haze than they had in my clear-cut bedroom.

I forced myself to focus on the two most vital questions I had to answer, but I did so unwillingly.

First, I had to decide if it was possible that what Mike had said about the Fabrays could be true.

Immediately my mind responded with a resounding negative. It was silly and morbid to entertain such ridiculous notions. But what, then? I asked myself. There was no rational explanation for how I was alive at this moment. I listed again in my head the things I'd observed myself: the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the inhuman beauty. And more—small things that registered slowly—how they never seemed to eat, the disturbing grace with which they moved. And the way _she_ sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the style of a turn-of-the-century novel than that of a twenty-first-century classroom. She had skipped class the day we'd done blood typing. She hadn't said no to the beach trip till she heard where we were going. She seemed to know what everyone around her was thinking…except me. She had told me she was the villain, dangerous…

Could the Fabrays be vampires?

Well, they were _something_. Something outside the possibility of rational justification was taking place in front of my incredulous eyes. Whether it be Mike's _cold ones_ or my own superhero theory, Santana Lopez was not…human. She was something more.

So then—maybe. That would have to be my answer for now.

And then the most important question of all. What was I going to do if it was true?

_If_ Santana was a vampire—I could hardly make myself think the words—then what should I do? Involving someone else was definitely out. I couldn't eve believe myself; anyone I told would have me committed.

Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take her advice: to be smart, to avoid her as much as possible. To cancel our plans, to go back to ignoring her as far as I was able. To pretend there was an impenetrably thick glass wall between us in the one class where we were forced together. To tell her to leave me alone—and mean it this time.

I was gripped in a sudden agony of despair as I considered that alternative. My mind rejected the pain, quickly skipping on to the next option.

I could do nothing different. After all, I she was something…sinister, she'd done nothing to hurt me so far. In fact, I would be a dent in Ryder's fender if she hadn't acted so quickly. So quickly, I argued with myself, that it might have been sheer reflexes. But if it was a reflex to save lives, how bad could she be? I retorted. My head spun around in answerless circles.

There was one thing I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The dark Santana in my dream last night was a reflection only of my fear of the word Mike had spoken, and not Santana herself. Even so, when I'd screamed out in terror at the werewolf's lunge, it wasn't fear for the wolf that brought the cry of "no" to my lips. It was fear that _she_ would be harmed—even as she called to me with sharp-edged fangs, I feared for _her._

And I knew in that I had my answer. I didn't know if there ever was a choice, really. I was already in too deep. Now that I knew—_if_ I knew—I could do nothing about my frightening secret. Because when I thought of her, of her voice, her hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of her personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with her right now. Even it…but I couldn't think it. Not here, alone in the darkening forest. Not while the rain made it dim as twilight under the canopy and pattered like footsteps across the matted earthen floor. I shivered and rose quickly from my place of concealment; I worried that somehow the path would have disappeared with the rain.

But it was there, safe and clear winding its way out of the dripping green maze. I followed it hastily, my hood pulled close around my face, becoming surprised, as I nearly ran through the trees, at how far I had come. I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the path farther into the confines of the forest. Before I could get too panicky, though, I began to glimpse some open spaces through the webbed branches. And then I could hear a car passing on the street, and I was free, Robert's lawn stretched out in front to me, the house beckoning me, promising warmth and dry socks.

It was just noon when I got back inside. I went upstairs and got dressed for the day, jeans and a t-shirt, since I was staying indoors. It didn't take too much effort to concentrate on my task for the day, a paper on _Macbeth_ that was due Wednesday. I settled into outlining a rough draft contentedly, more serene than I'd felt since…well, since Thursday afternoon, if I was being honest.

That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I simply followed through—usually with relief that the choice was made. Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives.

This decision was ridiculously east to live with. Dangerously easy.

And so the day was quiet, productive—I finished my paper before eight. Robert came home with a large catch, and I made a mental not to YouTube recipes for fish while I had access to a better computer, or maybe just grab a book when I went to Seattle next week. The chills that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Mike Chang. They should be different, I though. I should be afraid—I knew I should be, but I couldn't feel the right kind of fear.

I slept dreamlessly that night, exhausted from beginning my day so early, and sleeping so poorly the night before. I woke, for the second time since arriving Forks, to the bright yellow light of a sunny day. I skipped to the window, stunned to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and those there were just fleecy little white puffs that couldn't possibly be carrying any rain. I opened the window—surprised when it opened silently, without sticking not having opened it in who knows how many years—and sucked in the relatively dry air. It was nearly warm and hardly windy at all. My blood was electric in my veins.

Robert was finishing breakfast when I came downstairs, and he picked up on my mood immediately.

"Nice day out," he commented.

"Yes," I agreed with a grin.

He smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Robert smiled, it was easier to see why he and my mother had jumped too quickly into an early marriage. Most of the young romantic he'd been in those days had faded before I'd know him, as the curly brown hair—the same color, if not the same texture, as mine—had swindled, slowly revealing more and more of the shiny skin of his forehead. But when he smile I could see a little of the man who had run away with Katherine when she was just two years older than I was now.

I ate breakfast cheerily, watching the dust moats stirring in the sunlight that streamed in the back window. Robert called out a goodbye and I heard the cruiser pull away from the house. I hesitated on my way out the door, hand on my rain jacket. It would be tempting fate to leave it home. With a sigh, I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the brightest light I'd seen in months.

By dint of much elbow grease, I was able to get both windows in the truck almost completely rolled down. I was one of the first ones to school; I hadn't even checked the clock in my hurry to get outside. I parked and headed toward the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria. The benches were still a little damp, so I sat on my jacket, glad to have a use for it. My homework was done—the product of a slow social life—but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't sure I had right. I rook out my book industriously, but halfway through rechecking the first problem I was daydreaming, watching the sunlight play on the red-barked trees. I sketched inattentively along the margins of my homework. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized I'd drawn five pairs of dark eyes staring out of the page at me. I scrubbed them out with the eraser.

"Brittany!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like Finn. I looked around to realize that the school and become populated while I'd been sitting there, absentminded. Everyone was in t-shirts, some even in shorts though the temperature couldn't be over sixty. Finn was coming toward me in khaki shorts and a Forks high football jersey, waving.

"Hey, Finn," I called, waving back, unable to be half-hearted on a morning like this.

He came to sit by me, the golden light shining on the smile stretched across his face. He was so delighted to see me, I couldn't help but feel gratified.

"I never noticed before—you have really pretty hair," he commented, catching between his fingers a strand that was fluttering in the light breeze.

"Thanks," I said, blushing from the compliment.

Finn must have thought it was because I liked him. His grin grew and I became just a little uncomfortable as he tucked the lock behind my ear.

"Great day, isn't it?"

"My kind of day," I agreed.

"What did you do yesterday?" His tone was just a bit too proprietary.

"I mostly worked on my essay." I didn't add that I was finished with it—no need to sound smug.

He hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh yeah—that's due Thursday, right?"

"Um, Wednesday, I think."

"Wednesday?" He frowned. "That's not good…I'll guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight," he said, deflated. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh." I was taken off guard. Why couldn't I ever have a pleasant conversation with Finn anymore without it getting awkward?

"Well, we could go to dinner or something…and I could work on it later." He smiled hopefully.

"Finn…" I hated being put on the spot. "I don't think that would be the best idea."

His face fell. "Why?" he asked, his eyes guarded. My thoughts flickered to Santana wondering if that's where his thoughts were as well.

"I think…and if you ever repeat what I'm saying right now I will cheerfully beat you to death," I threatened, "but I think that would hurt Rachel's feelings."

He was bewildered, obviously not thinking in _that_ direction at all. "Rachel?"

"Really, Finn, are you _blind_?"

"Oh," he exhaled—clearly dazed. I took advantage of that to make my escape.

"It's time for class, and I can't be late again." I gathered my books up and stuffed them in my bag.

We walked in silence to building three, and his expression was distracted. I hoped whatever thoughts he was immersed in were leading him in the right direction.

When I saw Rachel in Trig, she was bubbling with enthusiasm. She, Mercedes, and Kitty were going to Port Angeles tonight to go dress shopping for the dance, and she wanted me to come, too, even though I didn't need one. I was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town with some girlfriends, but Kitty would be there. And who knew what I could be doing tonight…But that was definitely the wrong path to let my mind wander down. Of course I was happy about the sunlight. But that wasn't completely responsible for the euphoric mood I was in, not even close.

So I gave her a maybe, telling her I'd have to talk with Robert first.

She talked of nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing as if without an interruption when class finally ended, five minutes late, and we were on our way to lunch. I was far too lost in my own frenzy of anticipation to notice much of what she said. I was painfully eager to see not just her but all the Fabrays—to compare them with the new suspicions that plagued my mind. As I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria, I felt the first true tingle of fear slither down my spine and settle in my stomach. Would they be able to know what I was thinking? And then a different feeling jolted through me—would Santana be waiting to sit with me again?

As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Fabrays' table. A shiver of panic trembled in my stomach as I realized it was empty. With dwindling hope, my eyes scoured the rest of the cafeteria, hoping to find her alone, waiting for me. The place was nearly filled—Spanish had made us late—but there was no sign of Santana or any of her family. Desolation hit me with crippling strength.

I shambled along behind Rachel, not bothering to pretend to listen anymore.

We were late enough that everyone was already at our table. I avoided the empty chair next to Finn in favor of one by Mercedes. I vaguely noticed that Finn held the chair out politely for Rachel, and that her face lit up in response.

Mercedes asked a few quiet questions about the _Macbeth_ paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while spiraling downward in misery. She, too, invited me to go with them tonight, and I agreed now, grasping at anything to distract myself.

I realized I'd been holding on to the last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw her empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment.

The rest of the day passed slowly, dismally. In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of badminton, the best part was that the coach didn't finish, so I got another day off tomorrow.

I was glad to leave campus, so I would be free to pout and mope before I went out tonight with Rachel and company. But right after I walked in the door of Robert's house, Rachel called to cancel out plans. I tried to be happy that Finn had asked her out to dinner—I really was relieved that he finally seemed to be catching on—but my enthusiasm sounded false in my own ears. She rescheduled out shopping trip or tomorrow night. Which left me with little in the way of distractions. I had fish marinating for dinner, with a salad and bread left over from the night before, so there was nothing to do there. I spent a focused half hour on homework, but then I was through with that too. I checked my e-mail, reading the backlog of letters from my mother, getting snippier as they progressed to the present. I sighed and typed a quick response.

_Mom,_

_Sorry. I've been out. I went to the beach with some friends. And I had to write a paper._

My excuses were fairly pathetic, so I gave up on that.

_It's so sunny outside today—I know, I'm shocked too—so I'm going to go outside and soak up as much vitamin D as I can. I love you._

_Brittany._

I decided to kill and hour with something I loved doing but hadn't had time to do lately. I went up to my room and grabbed the portable stereo, my mixed Ke$ha CD, and went outside.

Outside in Robert's yard, I put down the stereo and turned on the stereo. Ke$ha's _Tik Tok_ started playing and I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. All the frustrations and pent up energy I had from worrying and school went away as I danced. I never once opened my eyes, not needing to see for obstacles because there were none in the yard, Robert wasn't one for random lawn ornaments. _Tik Tok_ ended and I took a deep breath before the CD turned to _Dinosaur_. _Take It Off_ followed and by the time _Dancing With Tears In My Eyes_ showed up four songs later, I dropped down onto the grass and just let the song play. I felt immensely better. Looking up at the sky I realized that at least an hour and half had passed and I was so tired. I closed my eyes and felt the breeze blow across my face, causing stray strands of my hair to billow around my head. I must have looked ridiculous but I didn't care, no one was watching me anyway. I closed my eyes and focused on the heat that touched my eyelids, my cheekbones, my nose, my lips, my forearms, my neck, soaked through my light shirt…

The next thing I was conscious of was the sound of Robert's cruiser turning onto the bricks of the driveway. I sat up in surprise, realizing the light was gone, behind the trees, and I had fallen asleep. I looked around, muddled, with the sudden feeling that I wasn't alone.

"Robert?" I asked. But I could hear his door slamming in front of the house.

I jumped up, foolishly edgy, gathering the stereo. I ran inside to get some oil heating on the stove, realizing that dinner would be late. Robert was hanging up his gun belt and stepping out of his boots when I came in.

"Sorry, Dad, dinner's not ready yet—I fell asleep outside." I stifled a yawn.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I wanted to catch the score on the game, anyway."

I watched TV with Robert after dinner, for something to do. There wasn't anything on I wanted to watch, but he knew I didn't like baseball, so he turned it to some mindless sitcom that neither of us enjoyed. He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, despite my depression, to make him happy.

"Dad," I said during a commercial, "Rachel and Mercedes are going to look at dresses for the dance tomorrow night in Port Angeles, and they wanted me to help them choose…do you mind if I go with them?"

"Rachel Berry?" he asked.

"And Mercedes Jones." I sighed as I gave him the details.

He was confused. "But you're not going to the dance, right?"

"No, Dad, but I'm helping _them_ find dresses—you know, giving them constructive criticism." I wouldn't have to explain this to a woman.

"Well, okay." He seemed to realize that he was out of his depth with the girlie stuff. "It's a school night, though."

"We'll leave right after school, so we can get back early. You'll be okay for dinner right?"

"Britt, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.

"I don't know how you survived, you're worse than me," I muttered, then added more clearly, "I'll leave some things for sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."

It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with renewed hope that I grimly tried to suppress. I dressed for the warmer weather in a deep blue V-neck blouse—something I'd worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.

I had planned my arrival at school so that I barely had time to make it to class. With a sinking heart, I circled the full lot looking for a space, while also searching for the red Mustang that was clearly not there. I parked in the last row and hurried to English, arriving breathless, but subdued, before the final bell.

It was the same as yesterday—I just couldn't keep little sprouts of hope from budding in my mind, only to have them squashed painfully as I searched the lunchroom in vain and sat at my empty Biology table.

The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight and made all the more attractive by the fact that Kitty had other obligations. I was anxious to get out of town so I could stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping to see her appearing out of the blue the way she usually does. I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight and not ruin Mercedes's or Rachel's enjoyment in the dress hunting. Maybe I could do a little clothes shopping as well. I refused to think that I might be shopping alone in Seattle this weekend, that she would be no longer interested in the earlier arrangement. Surely she wouldn't cancel without at least telling me.

After school, Rachel followed me home in her old white Mercury so that I could ditch my books and truck, I brushed through my hair quickly when I was inside, feeling a slight lift of excitement as I contemplated getting out of Forks. I left a note for Robert on the table, explaining again where to find dinner, switched my scruffy wallet from my school bag to a purse I rarely used, and ran out to join Rachel. We went to Mercedes's house next, and she was waiting for us. My excitement increased exponentially as we actually drove out of the town limits.

_**A.N. K, sorry I had to ad-lib Brittany dancing. I know pretty much nothing about dancing so I couldn't go into detail and I'm pretty sure it might have sucked but just bear with me and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Oh, also go check out the author hlnwst she's amazing!**_


	8. Port Angeles

_**A.N. Sorry, my schedule has been hectic and I'm so far behind in my classes it's not even funny :P but I hope this makes up for the wait. Check these out though…**_

_** watch?v=_2pSRNKPkOY&list=PL0SOR6Nk9BLpgC48Xvo4z4JHWcu-jir3k**_

_** s/8018979/1/Every-Direction**_

_**watch em, read em, love em :D**_

Rachel drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four. It had been a while since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen rush was invigorating. We listened to some Whitney Houston songs after Rachel got her Broadway songs shot down in a two to one vote, she simply pouted a little than jabbered on about the boys we hung out with. Rachel's dinner with Finn had gone very well, and she was hoping that Saturday night they would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself, pleased. Mercedes was happy to be going to the dance, but was a little nervous about going with Sam. Rachel said that as long as she learned Na'vi by the time the dance started she'd be good. Mercedes seemed to get more stressed at this and I interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. Mercedes threw a grateful glance my way.

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished than Forks. But Rachel and Mercedes knew it well, so they didn't plan to waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Rachel drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face

The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant. Both Rachel and Mercedes seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.

"Didn't you ever go with a boyfriend or something?" Rachel asked dubiously as we walked through the front doors of the store.

"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess about my bad taste in boys. "I've never really been close to anybody. I didn't go out much."

"Why not?" Rachel demanded.

"No one asked me," I answered honestly.

She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and you tell them no." We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.

"Well, except for Ryder," Mercedes amended quietly.

"Excuse me?" I gasped. "What did you say?"

"Ryder told everyone he's taking you to prom," Rachel informed me with suspicious eyes.

"He said _what?" _I sounded like I was choking.

"I told you it wasn't true," Mercedes murmured to Rachel.

I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do.

"That's why Kitty doesn't like you," Rachel giggled while we pawed through the clothes.

I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?"

"Maybe," Rachel snickered. "_If_ that's why he's doing this."

The dress selection wasn't large, but both of them found a few things to try on. I sat on a low chair just inside the dressing room, by the three-way mirror, trying to control my fuming.

Rach was torn between two—one long, strapless, basic black number, the other a knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. I encouraged her to go with the blue. Mercedes chose a dark purple dress that draped over her nicely and accented her skin color. I complimented them both generously and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with Katherine at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.

We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did need new shoes. The girls'-night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Ryder, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.

"Mercedes?" I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of black strappy heels. Jessica ad drifted to the jewelry counter and we were alone.

"Yes?" she held her leg out, twisting her ankles to get a better view of the shoe.

I chickened out. "I like those."

"I think I'll get them—they _are_ pretty cute." She mused.

"Oh, go ahead—they're on sale," I encouraged. She smiled, putting the lid back on a box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.

I tried again. "Um, Mercedes…" she looked up curiously.

"Is it normal for the…Fabrays"—I kept my eyes on the shoes—"to be out of school a lot?" I failed miserably in my attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Yes, when the weather is good they all go backpacking all the time-even the doctor. They're all real outdoorsy," she told me, examining her shoes, too. She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Rachel would have unleashed even though I could see the curiosity in her face. I was beginning to really like Mercedes.

"Oh." I let the subject drop as Rachel returned to show us the rhinestone jewelry she'd found to match her silver shoes.

We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Rach and Mercedes were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour—I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Rach pointed out.

I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. I didn't even go inside. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip. There had to be a normal bookstore in town.

I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with the end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should to where I was going; I was wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about her, and what Mercedes had said…and more than anything trying to beat down my hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when I looked up to see someone's silver Mustang parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself.

I stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked promising. But when I got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. I still had too much time to go looking for Rach and recedes yet, and I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around the corner.

I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try my luck on a different street on my way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists. As they approached me, I realized they weren't too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms. I scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as I could to give them room, walking swiftly, looking past them to the corner.

"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two were slowing. The closes, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.

"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner. I could hear them laughing at full volume behind me.

"Hey, wait!" one of them called after me again, but I kept my head down and rounded the corner with a sigh of relief. I could still hear them chortling behind me.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, I realized, the clouds finally returning, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. The eastern sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange. I'd left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.

They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither was the dark one who'd spoken to me. I turned my head forward at once, quickening my pace. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather made me shiver again. My purse was on a shoulder strap and I had it slung across my body, the way you were supposed to wear it so it wouldn't get snatched. I knew exactly where my pepper spray was—still in my duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked. I didn't have much money with me, just a twenty and some ones, I thought about "accidentally" dropping my bag and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be something worse than thieves.

I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and it didn't sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know they're following you. I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running, focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yards away from me now. I could hear them, staying as far back as they'd been before. A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.

I reached the corner, but a swift glance revealed that it was only a blind drive to the back of another building. I was half-turned in anticipation; I had to hurriedly correct and dash across the narrow drive, back to the sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, so I decided against it. The footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.

It seemed to take forever for me to get to the corner. I kept my ace steady, then men behind me falling ever so slightly farther behind with every step. Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry. I saw two cars going north pass the intersection I was heading for, and I exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once I got off this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.

And skidded to a stop.

The street was lined on both sides y blank, doorless, windowless walls. I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.

I was being herded.

I paused only for a second, but it felt like a very long time. I turned then and darted to the other side of the road. I had a sinking feeling that it was a wasted attempt. The footsteps behind me were louder now.

"There you are!" The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the intense quiet and made me jump. In the gathering darkness, it seemed like he was looking past me.

"Yeah," a voice called loudly from behind me, making me jump again as I tried to hurry down the street. "We just took a little detour."

My steps had to slow now. I was closing the distance between myself and the lounging pair too quickly. I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn't sure how much volume I could manage. With a quick movement I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to surrender it or use it was a weapon as need demanded.

The thickset man shrugged away from the wall as I warily came to a stop, and walked slowly into the street.

"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat—no volume.

"Don't be like that, sugar," he called, and the raucous laughter started again behind me.

I braced myself, feet apart, trying to remember through my panic what little self-defense I knew. Heel of the hand thrust upward, hopefully breaking the nose or shoving it into the brain. Finger through the eye socket—try to hook around and pop the eye out. And the standard knee to the groin, of course. That same pessimistic voice in my mind spoke up then, reminding me that I probably wouldn't have a chance against one of them, and there were four. Shut up! I commanded the voice before terror could incapacitate me. I wasn't going out without taking someone with me. I tried to swallow so I could build up a decent scream.

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stocky one, forcing him to jump back toward the sidewalk. I dove into the road—_this_ car was going to stop, or have to hit me. But the red car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.

"Get in," a furious voice commanded.

It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me—even before I was off the street—as soon as I heard her voice. I jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.

It was dark in the car, no light had come on with the opening of the door, and I could barely see her face in the glow from the dashboard. The tires squealed as she spun around to face north, accelerating too quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. I caught a glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as we straightened out and sped toward the harbor.

"Out on you seat belt," she commanded, and I realized I was clutching the leather seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness. She took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.

But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going. I stared at her face in profound relief, relief that went beyond my sudden deliverance. I studied her flawless features in the limited light, waiting for my breath to return to normal, until it occurred to me that her expression was murderously angry.

"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.

"No," she said curtly, and her tone was livid.

I sat in silence, watching her face while her blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.

"Brittany?" she asked, her voice tight, controlled.

"Yes?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.

"Are you all right?" she still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on her face.

"Yes," I croaked softly.

Her head shot to the side and I see something in her eyes that I couldn't discern. She clenched her jaw and looked ahead again. "Distract me, please," she almost begged.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She exhaled sharply.

"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down," she clarified, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"Um." I wracked my brain for something trivial. "I'm going to run over Ryder Lynn tomorrow before school?"

She was still squeezing her eyes closed, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Why?"

"He's telling everyone that he's taking me to prom—either he's insane or he's still trying to make up for almost killing me last…well, you remember it, and he thinks _prom_ is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figured if I endanger his life, then we're even, and he can't keep trying to make amends. I don't need enemies and maybe Kitty would back off if he left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though. If he doesn't have a ride he can't take anyone to prom…," I babbled on.

"I heard about that." She sounded a bit more composed.

"_You_ did?" I asked in disbelief, my previous irritation flaring. "If he's paralyzed from the ne down, he can't go to the prom, either," I muttered, refining my plan.

Santana sighed, and finally opened her eyes.

"Better?"

"Not really."

I waited, but she didn't speak again. She leaned her head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. Her face was rigid.

"What's wrong?" My voice came out in a whisper and I slowly stretched my hand towards her without my brain telling me to.

She turned her head slightly to look over at my suspended hand and I drew it back. She looked away from my hand and to my face. Dark eyes clashed with my blue and I sat in silence, stunned. "Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Brittany." She was whispering, too, as she looked at me. Her eyes narrowed into slits suddenly, "But it _wouldn't_ be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those…" she didn't finish her sentence, looking away, struggling for a moment to control her anger again. "At least," she continued, "that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"Oh." The word seemed inadequate, but I couldn't think of a better response.

We sat in silence again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was past six-thirty.

"Rachel and Mercedes will be worried," I murmured. "I was supposed to meet them."

She started her engine without another word, turning around smoothly and speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlight in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk she parallel-parked against the curb in a space I would have thought much too small for the Mustang, but she slid in effortlessly in one try. I looked out the window to see the lights of La Bella Italia, and Rach and Mercedes just leaving, pacing anxiously away from us.

"How did you know where…?" I began, but then I just shook my head. I heard the door open and turned to see her getting out.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm taking you to dinner." She smiled slightly, but her eyes were hard. She stepped out of the car and slammed the door. I fumbled with my seat belt, and then hurried to get out of the car as well. She was waiting for me on the sidewalk.

She spoke before I could. "Go stop Rachel and Mercedes before I have to track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again."

I shivered at the threat in her voice.

"Rach! Mercedes!" I yelled after them, waving when they turned. They rushed back to me, the pronounced relief on both their faces simultaneously changing to surprise as they saw who I was standing next to. They hesitated a few feet from us.

"Where have you been?" Rachel's voice was suspicious.

"I got lost," I admitted sheepishly. "And then I ran into Santana." I gestured toward her.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" she asked in her silken, irresistible voice. I could see form their staggered expressions that she had never unleashed her talents on them before.

"Er…sure," Rachel breathed.

"Um, actually, Brittany, we already ate while we were waiting—sorry," Mercedes confessed.

"That's fine—I'm not hungry." I shrugged.

"I think you should eat something." Santana's voice was low, but full of authority. She looked up at Rachel and spoke slightly louder. "Do you mind if I drive Brittany home tonight? That way you won't have to wait while she eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess…" she bit her lip, trying to figure out from my expression whether that was what I wanted. I winked at her. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my perpetual savior. There were so many questions that I couldn't bombard her with till we were by ourselves.

My wink must have been less subtle than I thought because Rachel continued to gape at me.

"Okay." Mercedes was quicker than Rachel. "See you tomorrow, Brittany…Santana." She grabbed Rachel's hand and pulled her toward the car, which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street. As they got in, Rach turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. I waved back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned to face her.

"Honestly, I'm not hungry," I insisted, looking up to scrutinize her face. Her expression was unreadable.

"Humor me…please."

She walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an obstinate expression. Obviously, there would be no further discussion even though her voice was polite. I walked past her into the restaurant with a resigned sigh.

The restaurant wasn't crowded—t was the off-season in Port Angeles. The host was female, and I understood the look in her eyes as she assessed Santana. I was surprised at how much that bothered me. Was everyone I come across going to be gay or is it just Santana's extreme attractiveness that brought on these lust filled/ star struck looks?

"A table for two?" Santana's voice was alluring, whether she was aiming for that or not. I saw the hostess's eyes flicker to me and then away, satisfied with my obvious ordinariness, and by the cautious, no-contact space Santana kept between us. She led us to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor.

I was about to sit, but Santana shook her head at me.

"Perhaps something more private?" she insisted quietly to the host. I wasn't sure, but it looked like she smoothly handed her a tip. I'd never seen anyone refuse a table except in old movies

"Sure." The hostess sounded as surprised as I was. She turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths—all of them empty. "How's this?"

"Perfect." She flashed her gleaming smile, dazing her momentarily.

"Um"—the hostess shook her head, blinking—"Your server will be right out." She walked away unsteadily.

"You really shouldn't do that to people," I criticized. "It's hardly fair."

"Do what?"

"Dazzle them like that—she's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

She seemed confused.

"Oh, come on." I said dubiously. "You _have_ to know the effect you have on people."

She tilted her head to one side, and her eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?"

"You haven't noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

She ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle _you_?"

"Frequently," I admitted.

And then our server arrived, her face expectant. The hostess had definitely dished behind the scenes, and this new girl didn't look disappointed. She flipped a strand of black hair behind one ear and smiled wit unnecessary warmth. I was getting sick of the _everyone is infatuated with Santana_ look and narrowed my eyes slightly.

"Hello. My name is Amber, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?" I didn't miss that she was speaking only to Santana.

Santana looked at me and I quickly removed my scowl. I guess it wasn't their fault Santana was so hot.

"I'll have a Coke." It sounded like a question.

"Two Cokes," she repeated to the server.

"I'll be right back with that," she assured Santana with another unnecessary smile. But she didn't see it. She was watching me.

"What?" I asked when she left, fearing I'd been caught sending daggers at the server before my decision of forgiveness.

Her eyes stayed fixed on my face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I replied, surprised by her intensity.

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold…?"

"Should I?"

She chuckled at my puzzled tone.

"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock." Her face twisted up into that perfect crooked smile.

"I don't think that will happen," I said after I could breathe again. "I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things."

"Just the same. I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you."

Right on cue, the waitress appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. She stood with her back to me as she placed them on the table.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked Santana.

"Brittany?" she asked. The waitress turned unwillingly toward me, her eyes quickly glancing over my body.

I picked the first think I saw on the menu. "Um…I'll have the mushroom ravioli."

"And you?" she turned back to Santana with a smile.

"Nothing for me, thank you," she said. Of course not.

"Let me know if you change your mind." The coy smile was still in place, but Santana wasn't looking at her, and she left dissatisfied.

"Drink," she ordered.

I sipped at my soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised by how thirsty I was. I realized I had finished the whole think when she pushed her glass toward me.

"Thanks," I muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy soda was radiating through my chest, and I shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just the Coke," I explained, shivering again.

"Don't you have a jacket?" her voice was disapproving.

"Yes." I looked at the empty bench next to me. "Oh—I left it in Rachel's car," I realized.

Santana was shrugging out of her jacket. I suddenly realized that I had never once noticed what she was wearing—not just tonight, but ever. I just couldn't seem to look away from her face. I made myself look now, focusing. She was removing a beige leather jacket now; underneath she wore an ivory long-sleeved shirt. It fit her snugly, emphasizing how enhanced her chest was.

She handed me the jacket, interrupting my ogling.

"Thanks." I said again, sliding my arms into her jacket. It was cold—the way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, hanging in the drafty hallway. I shivered again. It smelled amazing. I inhaled, trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn't smell like perfume. The sleeves were long enough to reach the middle of my hand and I was surprised. I shoved them back so I could free my hands.

"That color blue looks great with your eyes," she said watching me. I was surprised; I looked down, flushing, of course.

She pushed the bread basket toward me.

"Really, I'm not going into shock," I protested.

"You should be—a _normal_ person would be. You don't even look shaken." She seemed unsettled. She stared into my eyes, and I saw how light her eyes were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, golden butterscotch.

"I feel very safe with you," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again.

That displeased her; her brow furrowed. She shook her head, frowning.

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," she murmured to herself.

I picked up a breadstick and began nibbling on the end, measuring her expression. I wondered when it would be okay to start questioning her.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light." I commented, trying to distract her from whatever though had left her frowning and somber.

She stared at me, stunned. "What?"

"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black—I expect it then." I went on. "I have a theory about that."

Her eyes narrowed. "More theories?"

"Mm-hm." I chewed on a small bite of the bread, trying to look indifferent.

"I hope you were more creative this time…or are you still stealing from comic books?" Her faint smile was amused; her eyes were still tight.

"well, no. I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it on my own, either," I confessed.

"And?" she prompted.

But then the waitress strode around the partition with my food. I realized we'd been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as she approached. She set the dish in front of me—it looked pretty good—and turned quickly to Santana.

"Did you change your mind?" she asked. "Isn't there anything I can get you?" I may have been imagining the double meaning in her words.

"No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice." She gestured toward the empty cups in front of me.

"Sure." She removed the empty glasses and walked away.

"You were saying?" she asked.

"I'll tell you about it in the car. If…" I paused.

"There are conditions?" she raised one eyebrow, her voice mildly humored.

"I do have a few questions, of course."

"Of course."

The waitress was back with two more Cokes. She sat them down without a word this time, and left again.

I took a sip.

"Well, go ahead." She pushed, her voice encouraging.

I started with the most undemanding. Or so I thought. "Why are you in Port Angeles?"

She looked down, folding her tan hands together slowly on the table. Her eyes flickered up at me form under her lashes, the hint of a smirk on her face.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one," I objected.

"Next," she repeated.

I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled y silver ware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took another sip of Coke before I looked up.

"Okay, then," I glared at her, and continued slowly. "Let's say, hypothetically of course, that…someone…could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with a few exceptions."

"Just _one_ exception," she corrected, "hypothetically."

"All right, with one exception, then." I was thrilled that she was playing along, but I tried to seem casual. "How does that work? What are the limitations? How would…that someone…find someone else at exactly the right time? How would she know she was in trouble?" I wondered if my convoluted questions even made sense.

"Hypothetically?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Well, if…that someone…"

"Let's call her 'Jane,'" I suggested.

She smiled wryly. "Jane then. If Jane had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Only _you_ could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"We were speaking of a hypothetical case," I reminded her frostily.

She laughed at me, her eyes warm.

"Yes, we were," she agreed. "Shall we call you 'Alice'?"

"How did you know?" I asked, unable to curb my intensity. I realized I was leaning toward her again.

She seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. Her eyes locked with mine, and I guessed she was making the decision right then whether or not to simply tell me the truth.

"You can trust me, you know," I murmured. I reached forward, without thinking, to touch her folded hands, but she slid them away minutely, and I pulled my hand back.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I was wrong—you're much more observant than I gave you credit for."

"I thought you were always right."

"I used to be." She shook her head again. "I was wrong about you on one other thing, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents—that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

"And you put yourself into that category?" I guessed.

Her face turned cold, expressionless. "Unequivocally."

I stretched my hand across the table again—ignoring her when she pulled back slightly once more—to touch the back of her hand shyly with my fingertips. Her skin was cold and hard, like a stone.

"Thank you." My voice was fervent with gratitude. "That's twice now."

Her face softened. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"

I scowled, but nodded. She moved her hand out from under mine, placing both of hers under the table. But she leaned toward me.

"I followed you to Port Angeles," she admitted, speaking in a rush. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." She paused. I wondered if it should bother me that she was following me; instead I felt a strange surge of pleasure. She stared, maybe wondering why my lips were curving into an involuntary smile.

"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with fate?" I speculated, distracting myself.

"That wasn't the first time," she said, and her voice was hard to hear. I stared at her in amazement, but she was looking down. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

I felt a spasm of feat at her words, and abrupt memory of her violent glare that first day…but the overwhelming sense of safety I felt in her presence stifled it. By the time she looked up to read my eyes, there was no trace of fear in them.

"You remember?" she asked, her angel's face grave.

"Yes." I was calm.

"And yet here you sit." There was a trace of disbelief in her voice; she raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, here I sit…because of you." I paused. "Because somehow you know how to find me today…?" I prompted.

She pressed her lips together, staring at me through narrowed eyes, deciding again. Her eyes flashed down to my full plate, and then back to me.

"You eat, I'll talk," she bargained.

I quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in my mouth.

"It's harder than it should be—keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." She looked at me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen. I made myself swallow, then stabbed another ravioli and tossed it into my mouth.

"I was keeping tabs on Rachel, not carefully—like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles, not to mention that it's hell in there—" I smiled slightly at this, I could only imagine all the things Rachel _didn't_ say. "And at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't one in, and that you'd gone south…and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street—to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried…but I was strangely anxious…" She was lost in thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine.

"I started to drive in circles, still…listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—"she stopped, clenching her teeth together in a sudden fury. She made an effort to calm herself.

"Then what?" I whispered she continued to stare over my head.

"I heard what they were thinking," she growled, her upper lip curling slightly back over her teeth. "I saw your face in his mind." She suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, her hand covering her eyes. The movement was so swift it startled me.

"It was very…hard—you can't imagine how hard—for me to simply take you away, and leave them…alive." Her voice was muffled by her arm. "I could have let you go with Rachel and Mercedes, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them," she admitted in a whisper.

I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hand were folded in my lap, I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. She still had her face in her hand, and she was still as if she'd been carved from the stone her skin resembled.

Finally she looked up, her eyes seeking mine, full of her own questions.

"Are you ready to go home?" she asked.

"I'm ready to leave," I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hour-long ride home together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to her.

The waitress appeared as if she'd been called. Or watching.

"How are we doing?" she asked Santana.

"We're ready for the check, thank you." Her voice was quiet, rougher, still reflecting the strain of our conversation. It seemed to muddle the waitress. Santana looked up, waiting.

"S-sure," the waitress stuttered. "Here you go." She pulled a small leather folder from the front pocket of her black apron and handed it to Santana.

There was a bill in her hand already. She slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to her.

"No change." She smiled. Then she stood up, and I scrambled awkwardly to my feet.

The waitress smiled invitingly at her again. "You have a nice evening."

Santana didn't look away from me as she thanked her. I suppressed a smile.

She walked close beside me to the door, still careful not to touch me. I remembered what Rachel had said about her relationship with Finn, how they were almost to the first-kiss stage. I sighed. Santana seemed to hear me, and she looked down curiously. I looked at the sidewalk, grateful that she didn't seem to be able to know what I was thinking.

She opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in, shutting it softly behind me. I watched her walk around the front of the car, amazed, yet again, by how graceful she was. I probably should have been used to that by now—but I wasn't. I had a feeling Santana wasn't the kind of person anyone got used to.

Once inside the car, she started the engine and turned the heater on high. It had gotten very cold, and I guessed the good weather was at an end. I was warm in her jacket, though, breathing in the scent of it when I though she couldn't see.

Santana pulled out through traffic, apparently without a glance, flipping around to head toward the freeway.

"Now," she said significantly, "it's your turn."

_**A.N. K, it's 2:30 AM but I promised and here it is. Thanks for your wait and I promise to try to update sooner, it could be worse though, ellisbell85 hasn't updated in like 7 months. I'm not complaining but Mischances, Stances, and Stolen Glances is sooo good and almost done! But on another note you guys, pray (or don't pray just think good thoughts) for Cory and his rehab and Heather and her baby with Sid the sloth. Sorry, that was mean, I mean Taylor. But it doesn't matter because with Heather as a mom that kid is going to be a god/goddess when they get here in 6 months, so jealous! But, yea be there for both of them and have a nice day/night depending on where you love. -Football_Girl **_


	9. Theory

_**A.N. So, I'm on the way to Casino which means (curse being seventeen) fun for my parents, boredom for me, and a new chapter for you guys :D enjoy!**_

"Can I ask just one more?" I pleaded as Santana accelerated much too quickly down the quiet street. She didn't seem to be paying any attention to the road.

She sighed.

"One," she agreed. Her lips pressed together into a cautious line.

"Well…you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that.

She looked away, deliberating.

"I thought we were past all the evasiveness," I grumbled.

She almost smiled.

"Fine, then. I followed your scent." She looked at the road, giving me time to compose my face. I couldn't think of an acceptable response to that, but I filed it carefully away for future study. I tried to refocus. I wasn't ready to let her be finished, now that she was finally explaining things.

"And then you didn't answer one of my first questions…" I stalled.

She looked at me with disapproval. "Which one?"

"How does it work—the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family…?" I felt silly, asking for clarification on make-believe.

"That's more than one," she pointed out. I simply intertwined my fingers and gazed at her, waiting.

"No it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to fairly close. The more familiar someone's…'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." She paused thoughtfully. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear. Most of the time I tune it all out-it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem _normal_"—she frowned as she said the word—"when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" I asked curiously.

She looked at me, her eyes enigmatic.

"I don't know," she murmured. "The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." She grinned at me, suddenly amused.

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" The words bothered me more than they should—probably because her speculation hit home. I'd always suspected as much and embarrassed me to have it confirmed.

Her grin quickly disappeared and her brow furrowed and she looked at me as if she was stunned by my reaction again. "I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that _you're_ the freak," she smiled kindly. "Don't worry, it's just a theory…" Her face tightened. "Which brings us back to you."

I sighed. How to begin?

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?" she reminded me.

I looked away from her face for the first time, trying to find words. I happened to notice the speedometer.

"Holy double rainbow!" I shouted. "Slow down!"

"What's wrong?" She was startled. But the car didn't decelerate.

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!" I was still shouting. I shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall—as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

"Relax, Brittany." She laughed, still not slowly.

"Are you trying to kill us?" I demanded.

"We're not going to crash."

I tried to modulate my voice. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I always drive like this." She turned to smile crookedly at me.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"I've never been in an accident, Brittany—I've never even gotten a ticket." She grinned and tapped her forehead. "Built-in cop detector."

"Very funny." I fumed. "Robert's a cop, remember? I was raised to abide by traffic laws. Besides, if you turn us into a Mustang pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away."

"Probably," she agreed "But you can't." Her expression grew worried briefly before she sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. "Happy?"

"Almost."

"I hate driving slow," she muttered.

"_This_ is slow?"

"Enough commentary on my driving," she snapped but I watched the needle drift to seventy. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."

I bit my lip. She looked over at me, her honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.

"I won't laugh," she promised.

"I'm more afraid that you'll be angry with me."

"Is it that bad?"

"Pretty much, yea."

She waited. I was looking down at my hands, so I couldn't see her expression.

"Go ahead." Her voice was calm.

"I don't know how to start," I admitted.

"Why don't you start at the beginning...you said you didn't come up with this on your own."

"No."

"What got you started—a book? A movie?" she probed.

"No—it was Saturday, at the beach." I risked a glance over at her face. She looked puzzled.

"I ran into an old family friend—Mike Chang," I continued. "His dad and Robert have been friends since I was a baby."

She still looked confused.

"His dad is one of the Quileute elders." I watched her carefully. Her confused expression froze in place. "We went for a walk—" I edited all my scheming out of the story "—and he was telling me some old legends—trying to scare me, I think. He told me one…" I hesitated.

"Go on," she said.

"About vampires." I realized I was whispering. I couldn't look at her face now. But I saw her knuckles tighten convulsively on the wheel.

"And you immediately thought of me?" Still calm.

"No. He mentioned your family."

She was silent, staring at the road.

I was worried suddenly, worried about protecting Mike.

"He just thought it was a silly superstition," I said quickly. "He didn't expect me to think anything of it." It didn't seem like enough; I had to confess. "It was my fault, I forced him to tell me."

"Why?"

"Kitty said something about you—she was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like her meant something different. So I got Mike alone and tricked it out of him," I admitted, hanging my head.

She startled me by laughing. I glared at her. She was laughing, but her eyes were fierce, staring ahead.

"Tricked him how?" she asked.

"I tried to flirt—it worked better than I thought it would." Disbelief colored my tone as I remembered.

"I'd like to have seen that." She chuckled darkly. "And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Mike Chang."

I blushed and looked out my window into the night.

"What did you do then?" she asked after a minute.

"I did some research on the Internet."

"And did that convince you?" Her voice sounded barely interested. But her hands were clamped hard onto the steering wheel.

"No. nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…" I stopped.

"What?"

"I decided it didn't matter," I whispered.

"It didn't _matter?"_ her tone made me look up—I had finally broken through her carefully composed mask. Her face was incredulous with just a hint of the anger I'd feared.

"No," I said softly. "It doesn't matter to me what you are."

A hard, mocking edge entered her voice. "You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not _human?_"

"No."

She was silent, staring straight ahead again. Her face was bleak and cold.

"You're angry," I sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," he said, but her tone was as hard as his face. "I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So, I'm wrong again?" I challenged.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It doesn't matter'!" she quoted, gritting her teeth together.

"I'm right?" I gasped.

"Does it _matter?"_

I took a deep breath.

"Not really." I paused. "But I _am_ curious." My voice, at least, was composed.

She was suddenly resigned. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she answered promptly

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

Her lips twitched as she stared at the road. "A while," she admitted at last.

"Okay." I smiled, pleased that she was still being honest with me. She stared over at me with watchful eyes, much as she had before, when she was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider in encouragement, and she frowned.

"Don't laugh—but how can you come out during the daytime?"

She laughed anyway. "Myth."

"Burned by the sun?'

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"Myth." She hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered her voice. "I can't sleep."

It took me a minute to absorb that. "At all?"

"Never," she said, her voice nearly inaudible. She turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at her until she looked away.

"you haven't asked me the most important question yet." Her voice was hard now, and when she looked at me again her eyes were cold.

I blinked, still dazed. "Which one is that?"

"You aren't concerned about my diet?" she asked sarcastically.

"Oh," I murmured, "that."

"Yes, that." Her voice was bleak. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I flinched. "Well, Mike said something about that."

"What did Mike say?" she asked flatly.

"He said you didn't…hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"He said we weren't dangerous?" her voice was deeply skeptical.

"Not exactly. He said you weren't _supposed_ to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

She looked forward, but I couldn't tell if she was watching the road or not.

"So was he right? About not hunting people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

"The Quileutes have a long memory," she whispered.

I took it as a confirmation.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," she warned me. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We try," she explained slowly. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?" I heard the sadness in my voice, but I didn't know if she could as well.

"A very dangerous one," she murmured.

We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn't look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with her like this again—openly, the walls between us gone for once. Her words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn't waste one minute I had with her.

"Tell me more," I asked desperately, not caring what she said, just so I could hear her voice again.

She looked at me quickly, startled by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation.

"I don't _want_ to be a monster." Her voice was very low.

"But animals aren't enough?"

She paused. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." Her tone turned ominous. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now," I said confidently—stating, not asking.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that people are crabbier when they're hungry."

She chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"

I didn't answer; I just listened to the sound of her laugh, committing it to memory.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with Noah?" I asked when it was quiet again.

"With Puck, yes." She paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me…anxious…to be away from you." Her eyes were gentle but intense, and they seemed to be making my bones turn soft. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try to be careful last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." She shook her head, and then seemed to remember something. "Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"your hands," she reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. Her eyes missed nothing.

"I fell," I sighed.

"That's what I thought." Her lips curved up at the corners. "I suppose, with the company you were keeping, it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Puck's nerves." She smiled ruefully at me.

I wondered what she meant by the 'company' I was keeping but the second half of her speech caught my attention more. "Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much disappointment I had suffered because of her absence.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," she promised.

I thought about it for a moment.

"You might have called me," I decided.

She was puzzled. "But I knew you were safe."

"But _I_ didn't know where _you_ were. I—" I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

"What?" Her velvety voice was compelling.

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too." I blushed to be saying this out loud.

She was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that her expression was pained.

"Ah," she groaned quietly. "This is wrong."

I couldn't understand her response. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see, Brittany? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." She turned her anguished eyes to the road, her words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way, I can't." her voice was low but urgent. Her words cut me. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Brittany—please, grasp that."

"No." I tried very hard not to look like a sulky child.

"I'm serious," she growled.

"So am i. I told you, it doesn't matter what you are. It's too late."

Her voice whipped out, low and harsh. "Never say that."

I bit my lip and was glad she couldn't know how much that hurt. I stared out at the road. We must be close now. She was driving much too fast.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel her gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward.

"Are you crying?" she sounded worried. I hadn't realized the moisture in my eyes had brimmed over. I quickly rubbed my hand across my cheek, and sure enough, traitor tears were there, betraying me.

"No," I said, but my voice cracked.

I saw her reach toward me hesitantly with her right hand, but then she stopped and placed it slowly back on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry." Her voice burned with regret. I knew she wasn't just apologizing for the words that had upset me.

The darkness slipped by us in silence.

"Tell me something," she asked after another minute, and I could hear him struggle to use a lighter tone.

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression—you didn't look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker—you know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain." I thought of the dark-haired man with a surge of hate.

"You were going to fight them?" This upset her. "Didn't you think about running?"

"No, I figured I'd get lost," I admitted looking down.

"What about screaming for help?"

I fumbled with my hands. "I was getting to that part."

She shook her head. "You were right—I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive."

I sighed and looked up. We were slowing, passing into the boundaries for Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I demanded.

"Yes—I have a paper due, too." She smiled. "I'll save you a seat at lunch."

It was silly, after everything we'd been through tonight, how that little promise sent flutters through my stomach, and made me unable to speak.

We were in front of Robert's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. She stopped the car, but I didn't move.

"Do you _promise_ to be there tomorrow?"

"I promise."

I considered that for a moment, than nodded. I pulled her jacket off, taking one last whiff.

"You can keep it—you don't have a jacket for tomorrow," she reminded me.

I handed it back to her. "I don't want to have to explain to Robert."

"Oh, right." She grinned.

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, trying to prolong the moment.

"Brittany?" she asked in a different tone—serious, but hesitant.

"Yes?" I turned back to her too eagerly.

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yes," I said, and instantly regretted my unconditional agreement. What if she asked me to stay away from her? I couldn't keep that promise.

"Don't go into the woods alone."

I stared at her in blank confusion. "Why?"

She frowned, and her eyes were tight as she stared past me out the window.

"I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

I shuddered slightly at the sudden bleakness in her voice, but was relieved. This, at least, was an easy promise to honor. "Whatever you say."

"I'll see you tomorrow," she sighed, and I knew she wanted me to leave now.

"Tomorrow, then." I opened the door unwillingly.

"Brittany?" I turned and she was leaning toward me, her tan, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

"Sleep well," she said. Her breath blew in my face, stunning me. It was the same exquisite scent that clung to her jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, thoroughly dazed. She leaned away.

I was unable to move until my brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. Then I stepped out of the car awkwardly, having to use the frame for support. I thought I heard her chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain.

She waited till I had stumbled to the front door, and then I heard her engine quietly rev. I turned to watch the red car disappear around the corner. I realized it was very cold.

I reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Robert called from the living room. "Brittany?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me." I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game.

"You're home early."

"Am I" I was surprised.

"It's not even eight yet," he told me. "Did you girls have fun?"

"Yeah—it was lots of fun." My head was spinning as I tried to remember all the way back to the girls' night out I had planned. "They both found dresses."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking."

"Well, maybe you should go lie down." He sounded concerned. I wondered what my face looked like.

"I'm just going to call Rachel first."

"Weren't you just with her?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes—but I left my jacket in her car. I want t omake sure she brings it tomorrow."

"Well, giver her a chance to get home first."

"Right," I agreed.

I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. I was really felling dizzy now. I wondered if I was going to go into shock after all. Get a grip, I told myself.

The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook.

"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.

"Brittany?"

"Hey, Rach. I was just going to call you."

"You made it home?" Her voice was relieved…and surprised.

"Yes. I left my jacket in your car—could you bring it to me tomorrow?"

"Sure. But tell me what happened! Was it a date? Did you hold hands? Are you dating? Did you plan to meet her there? Is she gay? Are you just friends? Are you going to hang out again? Tell me, everything!"

"Um, tomorrow—in Trig, okay?"

She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your father there?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" I could hear the impatience in her voice.

"Bye, Rach."

I walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor clouding my mind. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing. It wasn't until I was in the shower—the water too hot, burning my skin—that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my rigid muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the hot water began to run out.

I stumbled out, wrapping myself securely in a towel trying to hold the heat form the water in so the aching shivers wouldn't return. I dressed for bed swiftly and climbed under my quilt, curling into a ball, hugging myself to keep warm. A few small shudders trembled through me.

My mind still swirled dizzily, full of images I couldn't understand, and some I fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear at first, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Santana was a vampire. Second, there was part of her—and I didn't know how potent that part might be—that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocable in love with her.

_**A.N. K, I have to ask because you guys actually read this and I want to make you guys happy. Do you, somehow, probably by magic, want Faberry in this fic or in one of the ones to (hopefully) follow this? I have no freakin' idea how I'd do that but Faberry seems pretty popular with people who also read Brittana so….yea….review your answer and I'll attempt to make it work if that's what y'all want…THANKS!**_


	10. Interrogations

_**A.N. ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh 2 chapters in one shot! Which means GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER 9 ! Also, don't expect updates this fast again because, yea, my life is weird. But here you go *heart***_

It was very hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure last night was a dream. Logic wasn't on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn't have imagined—like her smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own.

It was groggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. She had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn't have a jacket. Further proof that my memory was real.

When I got downstairs, Robert was gone again—I was running later that I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with milk straight from the carton, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find Rachel.

It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. The mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was a car in it: a red car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time.

I didn't see where she came from, but suddenly she was there, pulling the door open for me.

"Do you want to ride with me today?" she asked, amused by my expression as she caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in her voice. She was really giving me a choice—I was free to refuse, and part of her hoped or that. It was a vain hope.

"Yes, thank you," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed her tan jacket was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner that should be possible, she was sitting next to me, starting the car.

"I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." Her voice was guarded. I noticed that she wore no jacket herself, just a light gray Abercrombie sweater over a white T-shirt. Even the sweater clung to her perfect form. It was a classical tribute to her face that I kept my eyes away from her body.

"I'm not quite that delicate," I said, but I pulled the jacket onto my lap, pushing my arms through the too-long sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better.

"Aren't you?" she contradicted in a voice so low I wasn't sure if she meant for me to hear.

We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, always too fast, feeling awkward. I was, at least. Last night all the walls were down…almost all. I didn't know if we were still being candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for her to speak.

She turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?"

"Do my questions bother you?" I asked, relieved.

"Not as much as your reactions do." She looked like she was joking, but I couldn't be sure.

I frowned. "Do I react badly?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly—it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"I always tell you what I'm really thinking."

"You edit," she accused.

"Not very much."

"Enough to drive me insane."

"You don't want to hear it," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope she hadn't noticed it.

She didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. Her face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly.

"Where's the rest of your family?" I asked—more than glad to be alone with her, but remembering that her car was usually full.

"They took Quinn's car." She shrugged as she parked next to a glossy blue convertible with the top up. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

"Um, wow," I breathed. "If she has _that_, why does she ride with you?"

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We _try_ to blend in."

"You don't succeed." I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn't late anymore; her lunatic driving had gotten me to school in plenty of time. "So why did Quinn drive today if it's more conspicuous?"

"Hadn't you noticed? I'm breaking _all_ the rules now." She had met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. I wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch her, but I was afraid she wouldn't like me to.

"Why do you have cars like that at all?" I wondered aloud. "If you're looking for privacy?"

"An indulgence," she admitted with an impish smile. "We all like to drive fast."

"Figures," I muttered under my breath.

Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, Rachel was waiting, her eyes about to bug out of their sockets. Over her arm, thank god, was my jacket.

"Hey, Rachel," I said when we were a few feet away. "Thanks for remembering." She handed me my jacket without speaking.

"Good morning, Rachel," Santana said politely although it almost seemed forced. It wasn't her fault that her voice was so irresistible. Or what her eyes were capable of.

"Er…hi." She shifted her wide eyes to me, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. "I guess I'll see you in Trig." She gave me a meaningful look, and I suppressed a sigh. What on earth was I going to tell her?

"What are you going to tell her?" Santana murmured.

"Hey, I though you couldn't read my mind!" I hissed.

"I can't," she said, startled. Then understanding brightened her eyes. "However, I can read hers—she'll be waiting to ambush you in class." I groaned as I pulled off her jacket and handed it to her, replacing it with my own. She folded it over her arm.

"So what are you going to tell her?"

"A little help?" I pleaded. "What does she want to know?"

She shook her head, grinning wickedly. "That's not fair."

"No, you not sharing what you know—now _that's_ not fair."

She deliberated for a moment as we walked. We stopped outside the door to my first class.

"Well, it being Rachel, she wants to know many, many things. The two most prominent probably being if we're secretly dating and how you feel about me," she finally said.

"Yikes. What should I say?" I tried to keep my expression very innocent. People were passing us on their way to class, probably staring, but I was barely aware of them.

"Hmmm." She paused to grab the collars of my coat and pull them together snugly, her fingers just grazing against my neck, enough to leave what I could only describe as little tingles. "I suppose you could say yes to the first…if you don't mind—it's easier than any other explanation."

"I don't mind," I said in a faint voice.

"And as for her other question…well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." One side of her mouth pulled up into my favorite uneven smile. I couldn't catch my breath soon enough to respond to that remark. She released my collar, turned, and walked away.

"I'll see you at lunch," she called over her shoulder. Three people walking in the door stopped to stare at me.

I hurried into class, flushed and irritated. She was such a cheater. Now I was even more worried about what I was going to say to Rachel. I sat in my usual seat, slamming my bag down in aggravation.

"Morning, Brittany," Finn said from the seat next to me. I looked up to see an odd, almost resigned look on his face. "How was Port Angeles?"

"It was…" There was no honest way to sum it up. "Great," I finished lamely. "Rachel got a really cute dress."

"Did she say anything about Monday night?" he asked, his eyes brightening. I smiled at the turn the conversation had taken.

"She said she had a really good time," I assured him.

"She did?" he said eagerly.

"Definitely."

Mr. Lence called the class to order then, asking us to turn in our papers. English and then Government passed in a blur, while I worried about how to explain things to Rachel and agonized over whether Santana would really be listening to what I said through the medium of Rach's thoughts. How very inconvenient her little talent could be—when it wasn't saving my life.

The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky.

Santana was right, of course. When I walked into Trig Rachel was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible.

"Let me just start out by saying that if you simply wanted to meet Santana you could have told us, speaking for Mercedes, we would have been very understanding and accepting. And while some students in this school may feel otherwise we have nothing against gay, or bi people, as you see I have two gay dads and they are very supporting and loving parents. So if you and Santana wish to reciprocate each other's feelings of mutual likeness than I shall be happy for you. Now back to yesterday…Tell me everything!" She commanded before I was even in my seat.

"Um…what do you want to know?" I hedged.

"What happened last night?"

"She bought me dinner, and then she drove me home."

She glared at me, her expression stiff with skepticism. "How did you get home so fast?"

"She drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." I hoped she heard that.

"Was it like a date—did you tell her to meet you there?"

I hadn't thought of that. "No—I was _very_ surprised to see her there."

Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice.

"But she picked you up for school today?" she prompted.

"Yea—that was a surprise too. She noticed I didn't have a jacket last night," I explained.

"So are you going out again?"

"She offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because she thinks my truck isn't up to it—does that count?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Well, than, yes."

"W-O-W." she exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Santana Lopez."

"I know," I agreed giving her a questioning glance. I was really starting to wonder about her sexuality. She ignored me and continued.

"Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has she kissed you?"

"No," I mumbled. "It's not like that."

She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did, too.

"Do you think Saturday…?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I really doubt it." The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised.

"What did you talk about?" she pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Riewer wasn't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking.

"I don't know, Rach, lots of stuff," I whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little." A very, very little. I think she mentioned it in passing.

"Please, Brittany," she begged. "Give me some details."

"Well…okay, I've got one. You should have seen the waitress flirting with her—it was over the top. But she didn't pay any attention to her at all." Let Santana make what she could of that.

"That's a good sign," she nodded. "Was she pretty?"

"Very—and probably nineteen or twenty."

"Even better. She must like you. And you know for sure that she's into girls?"

"Yea, we talked about that a little too"—a while ago—"and I _think_ she likes me, but it's so hard to tell. She's always so cryptic," I threw in sighing.

"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with her," she breathed.

"Why?" I was shocked, but she didn't understand my reaction.

"She's so…intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to her." She made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when she'd turned the overwhelming force of her eyes on her.

"I do have some trouble finding words when I'm around her," I admitted.

"Oh well. She _is_ unbelievable gorgeous." Rachel shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.

"There's a lot more to her than that."

"Really? Like what?"

I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping Santana had been kidding about listening in.

"I can't explain it right…but she's even more unbelievable _behind_ the face." The vampire who wanted to be good—who ran around saving people's lives so she wouldn't be a monster…I stared toward the front of the room.

"Is that _possible_? They all seem pretty much like an open book." She giggled.

I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Riewer.

"So you like her, then?" she wasn't about to give up.

"Yes," I said curtly.

"I mean do you _really _like her?" she urged.

"Yes," I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts.

She'd had enough with the single syllable answers. "How _much_ do you like her?"

"Too much," I whispered back. "More than she likes me. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, one blush blending into the next.

Then thankfully, Mr. Riewer called on Rachel for an answer.

She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action.

"In English, Finn asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her.

"You're kidding! What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked.

"I told him you said you had a lot of fun—he looked pleased."

"Tell me exactly what he said, and your _exact_ answer!"

We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Finn's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried about the subject returning to me.

And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my uplifted expression must have tipped Rachel off.

"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed.

"I don't _think_ so." I couldn't be sure that she wouldn't disappear inconveniently again.

But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall—looking more like Greek goddess than anyone had a right to—Santana was waiting for me. Rachel took one look, rolled her eyes, and departed.

"See you later, Brittany." Rachel's voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the phone.

"Hello." Her voice was amused and irritated at the same time. She had been listening, it was obvious.

"Hi."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, and she didn't speak—biding her time, I presumed—so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Santana through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared.

She led the way into the like, still not speaking, though her eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in her face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket.

She stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.

"What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?"

She shook her head, stepping forward to buy the food.

"Half is for me, of course."

I raised one eyebrow.

She led the way to the same place we'd sat that one time before. From the other end of the long table a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Santana seemed oblivious.

"Take whatever you want," she said, pushing the tray toward me.

"I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands," what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

"You're always curious." She grimaced, shaking her head. She glared at me, holding my eyes as she lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" she asked condescendingly.

I wrinkled my nose. "I did once…on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad."

She laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised. You seem like you were one of those children who never backed down from a child." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch her attention.

"Rachel's analyzing everything I do—she'll break it down for you later." She pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Rachel brought a hint of her former irritation back to her features.

I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza, looking away, know she was about to start.

"So the waitress was pretty, was she?" she asked casually.

"You really didn't notice?"

"No, I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind." She looked at me as she said this and my heart jumped.

"Poor girl." I could afford to be generous now.

"Something you said to Rachel…well, it bothers me." She refused to be distracted. Her voice was husk, and she glanced up from under her lashes with troubled eyes.

"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers," I reminded her.

"I warned you I would be listening."

"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."

"You did," she agreed, but her voice was still rough. "You weren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking—everything. I just wish…that you wouldn't be thinking some things."

I scowled. "That's quite a distinction."

"But that's not really the point at the moment."

"Then what is?" We were inclined toward each other across the table now. She had her hands folded under her chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around y neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.

"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" she murmured, leaning closer to me as she spoke, her dark golden eyes piercing.

I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.

"You're doing it again," I muttered.

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"

"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at her.

"Oh." She frowned.

"It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it."

"Are you going to answer the question?"

I looked down. "Yes."

"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" she was irritated again.

"Yes, I really think that." I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing the pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at her expression.

Finally she spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong."

I glanced up to see that her eyes were gentle.

"You can't know that," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at her words and I wanted so badly to believe them.

"What makes you think so?" Her liquid topaz eyes were penetrating—trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight form my mind.

I stared back, struggling to think clearly in site of her face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see her getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, she started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck, and held up one finger.

"Let me think," I insisted. Her expression cleared, now that she was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke.

"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes…" I hesitated. "I can't be sure—_I_ don't know how to read minds—but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that her words triggered in me at times.

"Perceptive," she whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as she confirmed my fears. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," she began to explain, but then her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"

"Well, look a time," I said, unnecessarily as she was already staring. "I'm absolutely ordinary—well, except for the bad things like all the near-death experiences. And look at you." I waved my and toward her and all her bewildering perfection.

Her brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as her eyes took on a knowing look. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," she chuckled, "but you didn't hear what every human male—and a few females—in this school were thinking on our first day."

I blinked, astonished. "I don't believe it…," I mumbled to myself.

"Trust me just this once—you are the opposite of ordinary."

My embarrassment was much stronger than my pleasure at the look that came into her eyes when she said this. I quickly reminded her of my original argument.

"But I'm not saying goodbye," I pointed out.

"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it"—she shook her head, seeming to struggle with the thought—"if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."

I glared. "And you don't think I would do the same?"

"You'd never have to make the choice."

Abruptly, her unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged her features. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a fulltime occupation that requires my constant presence."

"No one has tried to do away with me today," I reminded her grateful for the lighter subject. I didn't want her to talk about goodbyes anymore. If I had to, I supposed I could purposefully put myself in danger to keep her close…I banished that thought before her quick eyes read it on my face. That idea would definitely get me in trouble.

"Yet," she added.

"Yet," I agreed; I would have argued, but now I wanted her to be expecting disasters.

"I have another question for you." Her face was still casual.

"Shoot."

"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?"

I made a face at the memory. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Ryder thing yet," I warned her. "It's your fault that he's deluded himself into thinking I'm going to prom with him.

"Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without me—I just really wanted to watch your face," she chuckled I would have been angrier if her laughter wasn't so fascinating. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned _me_ down?" she asked, still laughing to herself.

"Probably not," I admitted. "But I would have canceled later—faked an illness or a sprained ankle."

She was puzzled. "Why would you do that?"

I shook my head sadly. "Dancing…is the only part of me that this whole stupid town doesn't know about. They know everything else, heck they even know things_ I _don't even know about me. I just want to keep this one thing to just myself.

She looked at me with that expression I can't decipher again. Kind of like I'd just said the most insightful thing ever.

"All right," she conceded, "but sometime you'll dance with me ok?"

My heart jumped again at the thought of dancing with Santana. Of holding her in a slow dance, or just touching her in general, and I nodded with a small smile. She smiled back.

"But you never told me—are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"

As long as the "we" part was in, I didn't care about anything else.

"I'm open to alternatives," I allowed. "But I do have a favor to ask."

She looked wary, as she always did when I asked an open ended question. "What?"

"Can I drive?"

She frowned. "Why?"

"Well mostly because when I told Robert I was going to Seattle, he specifically asked if I was going alone and, at the time, I was. If he asked again, I probably wouldn't like, but I don't think he _will_ ask again, and leaving my truck at home would just bring up the subject unnecessarily. And also, because your driving scares me."

She rolled her eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." She shook her head in disgust, but then her eyes were serious again. "Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" there was an undercurrent to her question that I didn't understand.

"With Robert, less is always more." I was definite about that. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye…and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Again, she was leaving the choice up to me.

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" I asked, excited by the idea of unraveling another of the unknowns.

"Yes." She smiled, and then paused. "But if you don't want to be…alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."

I was miffed. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle—just in population. In physical size—"

"But apparently," she interrupted me, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me." Her eyes did that unfair smoldering thing again.

I couldn't argue, with the eyes or the motivation, and it was a moot point anyway. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

"I know," she sighed, brooding. "You should tell Robert, though."

"Why in the world would I do that?"

Her eyes were suddenly fierce. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back."

I gulped. But, after a moment of thought, I was sure. "I think I'll take my chances."

She exhaled angrily, and looked away.

"Let's talk about something else," I suggested.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked. She was still annoyed.

I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone's hearing. As I cast my eyes around the room, I caught the eyes of her brother, Kurt, staring at me. The others were looking at Santana. I looked away swiftly, back to her, and asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Why did you go to the Goat Rocks place last weekend…to hunt? Robert said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears."

She stared at me as if I was missing something very obvious.

"Bears?" I gasped, and she smirked. "You know, bears are not in season," I added sternly, to hide my shock.

"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons," she informed me.

She watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in.

"Bears?" I repeated with difficulty.

"Grizzly is Puck's favorite." Her voice was still offhand, but her eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together.

"Hmmm," I said, taking another bit of pizza as and excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, and then took a long drink of Coke without looking up

"So," I said after a moment, finally meeting her now anxious gaze. "What's your favorite?"

She raised an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth turned down in disapproval. "Mountain lion."

"Ah," I said in a politely disinterested tone, looking for my soda again.

"Of course," she said, her tone mirrored mine, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators—ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?" she smiled teasingly.

"Where indeed," I murmured around another bit of pizza.

"Early spring is Puck's favorite bear season—they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." She smiled at some remembered joke.

"Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear," I agreed, nodding.

She snickered, shaking her head. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

"I'm trying to picture it—but I can't," I admitted. "How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

"Oh, we have weapons." She flashed her bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. I fought back a shiver before I could expose me. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Puck hunting."

I couldn't stop the next shiver that flashed down my spine. I peeked across the cafeteria toward Puck, grateful that he wasn't looking my way. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more menacing now.

Santana followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared at her, unnerved.

"Are you like a bear, too?" I asked in a low voice.

"More like the lion, or so they tell me," she said lightly. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

I tried to smile. "Perhaps," I repeated. But my mind was filled with opposing images that I couldn't merge together. "Is that something I might get to see?"

"Absolutely not!" her face turned a shade whiter, and her eyes were suddenly furious. I leaned back, stunned and—though I'd never admit it to her—frightened by her reaction. She leaned back as well, folding her arms across her chest.

"Too scary for me?" I asked when I could control my voice again.

"If that were it, I would take you out tonight," she said, her voice cutting. "You _need_ a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you."

"Then why?" I pressed, trying to ignore her angry expression.

She glared at me for a long minute.

"Later," she finally said. She was on her feet in one lithe movement. "We're going be late."

I glanced around, startled to see that she was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with her, the time and the place were such a muddled blur that I completely lost track, of both. I jumped up, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair.

"Later, then," I agreed. I wouldn't forget.

**_A.N. There you go. sorry I would have put it up earlier but my dad had the computer, so yea...I might be able to get another chapter up sometime this weekend but don't get your hopes up ok? Anyway I hope y'all liked this and please review :D_**


	11. Complications

_**A.N. Sorry, I'm a liar, a really really bad liar. I know I said that I would have this up last weekend but in my defense Minnesnowta has kept me shoveling ALL WEEK! But here it is now and guess what…2 more chapters (counting this one) until the meadow scene when the story gets rolling faster. So, yea, thanks for staying with me (or just coming here if that be the case) and I love you for it :)**_

Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticed that she no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, she sat quite close beside me, our arms almost touching.

Mrs. Weishalla backed into the room then—what superb timing the woman had—pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdated TV and VCR. A movie day—the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible.

Mrs. Weishalla shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wall to turn off the lights.

And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Santana was sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be _more_ aware of her than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch her, to stroke her perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was losing my mind.

The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes, of their own accord, flickered to her. I smiled sheepishly as I realized her posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under her arms, right down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. She grinned back, her eyes somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should feel dizzy.

The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie—I didn't even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but the electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in her body never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance in her direction, but she never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering craving to touch her also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Mrs. Weishalla flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my stiff fingers. Santana chuckled beside me.

"Well, that was interesting," she murmured. Her voice was dark and her eyes were cautious.

"Umm," was all I was able to respond.

"Shall we?" she asked, rising fluidly.

Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us.

She walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned to say goodbye. Her face startled me—her expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch her flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat.

She raised her hand, hesitant, conflict raging in her eyes, and then brushed the length of my cheekbone with her fingertips. Her skin was as icy as ever, but the trail her fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm—like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet.

She closed her eyes, than without a word turned and strode quickly away from me.

I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket. It wasn't heavy, and I took some practice swings, getting the feel for it. I could see the other kids in my class eyeing me furtively. Coach Bright ordered us to pair up into teams.

Finn came over to me with puppy dog eyes before I could run. The boy may be decent on a football team but indoors he was worse than that Bella chick from the Twilight movies.

"Do you, do you maybe want to be on a team?" he asked peering down at me.

"Um, yea, sure Finn," I smiled at his joy at my acceptance and vowed I'd just stay out of his way.

It didn't go smoothly. Finn somehow managed to hit himself in the head and clip me in the shoulder on the same swing. He was trying to talk and play at the same time.

"So, you and Lopez huh?" he started, his tone rebellious. My previous feeling of affection disappeared.

"That's none of your business, Finn," I warned, internally cursing Rachel straight to the fiery pits of hell and running back to hit the ball back over the net.

"I don't like it," he muttered anyway, ignoring the ball that bounced in front of him that I had to dive to return.

"She looks at you like…like you're something to eat," he continued.

I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small giggle managed to get out despite my efforts. This made Finn mad for some reason and he suddenly focused on the game bringing his arm back to swing. I turned to watch the ball go toward his side of the court. WHACK! My vision blanked and I dropped to the ground.

"Oh shit, Brittany…Brittany?" someone was saying my name and shaking me. Finn I guessed. "Brittany?" More shaking. "Coach Bright! Coach Bright I accidentally hit Brittany and she's not getting up."

Finn's big hands were replaced with smaller ones and I opened my eyes to see the face of my Gym teacher.

"You all right there honey?" she asked helping me to sit up. "Finn, go get some ice. Ouch your gonna have one heck of a bump. Come on."

She helped me up and brought me over to the side of the court before blowing the whistle signaling that Gym was over. Finn came back with the ice and apologies. I told him I was fine than ignored him, taking the ice and walking to the locker room.

As I was changing I forgot about Finn and started worrying about Santana. I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach. I was wondering if Santana would be waiting, or if I should meet her at her car. What if her family was there? I felt a wave of real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew, or not?

By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walk straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worried were unnecessary. Santana was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the gym, her breathtaking face tight, jaw clenched.

"Hi," I breathed, smiling hugely.

"Hello." Her answering smile was real but small. "How was Gym?"

My face fell a tiny bit and I worried about what Santana would do if she found out about Finn's accident. I hid the ice bag behind my back. "Fine," I lied.

"Really?" She was unconvinced. Her eyes shifted their focus slightly, looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Finn's back as he walked away.

"What?" I demanded.

Her eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "How's your head?"

"Santana he didn't mean it, it was an accident."

"His birth was an accident." She growled.

"You're unbelievable!" I turned, stomping away in the general direction of the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point. I wasn't mad that she had clearly 'listened in' on my Gym class but making fun of Finn was bullying and I wouldn't stand for it. Even if he deserved it.

"You're the one who got hurt! He hit you in the head with a racket!" she didn't sound repentant though, only angry still, so I ignored her.

We walked in silence—a furious silence on my part—to her car. But I had to stop a few steps away—a crowd of people, all boys, were surrounding it. Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Mustang, they were actually circled around Quinn's blue convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. None of them even looked up as Santana slid between them to open her door. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed.

"Ostentatious," she muttered.

"What kind of car is that?" I asked.

"An M3."

"I don't speak _Car and Driver_."

"It's a BMW." She rolled her eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out without running over the car enthusiasts.

I nodded—I'd heard of that one.

"Are you still angry?" she asked as she carefully maneuvered her way out.

"Definitely."

She sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"

"Maybe…if you mean it. _And_ if you promise not to do it again," I insisted.

"Brittany," she sighed, "if you haven't noticed I'm an extremely…jealous, selfish, and violent creature. I can't promise not to feel the need to hurt anyone who hurts you…but what if I mean it, _and _I agree to let you drive Saturday?" she countered my conditions.

I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get. "Deal," I agreed.

"Then I am very sorry that I upset you." Her eyes burned with sincerity for a protracted moment—playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart—and then turned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning."

"Um, it doesn't help with the Robert situation if an unexplained Mustang is left in the driveway."

Her smile was condescending now. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."

"How—"

She cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car."

I let it go. I had a more pressing question.

"Is it later yet?" I asked significantly.

She frowned. "I suppose it is later."

I kept my expression polite as I waited.

She stopped the car. I looked up, surprised—of course we were already at Robert's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with her if I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at her, she was staring at me, measuring with her eyes.

"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" She seemed solemn, but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in her eyes.

"Well," I clarified, "I was mostly wondering about your reaction."

"Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there.

"No," I lied. She didn't buy it.

"I apologize for scaring you," she persisted with a slight smile, but then all evidence of teasing disappeared. "It was just the very thought of you being there…while we hunted." Her jaw tightened.

"That would be bad?"

She spoke from between clenched teeth. "Extremely."

"Because…?"

She took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

"When we hunt," she spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over to our senses…govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" She shook her head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.

I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash of her eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothing away.

But our eyes held, and the silence deepened—and changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as she gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, she closed her eyes.

"Brittany, I think you should go inside now." Her voice was rough, her eyes on the clouds again.

I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

"Brittany?" she called after me, her voice more even. She leaned toward the open window with a faint smile on her lips.

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

She smiled wider, flashing her gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

And then she was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear she was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else.

That night Santana starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on, a white t-shirt, my blue sweater, and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of spaghetti straps and short-shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Robert fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspoken question as he stood up to take his plate to the sink.

"About this Saturday…," he began, walking across the kitchen and turning on the faucet.

I cringed. "Yes, Dad?"

"Are you still set on going to Seattle?' he asked.

"That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"

"I'm not going to the dance, Dad." I glared.

"Didn't anyone ask you? I know how you love to dance." He said, trying to hide his concern by focusing on rinsing the plate.

I sidestepped the minefield. "It's a girl's choice."

"Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate. Not bringing up the fact that a _girl_ could have asked me as well.

I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living in fear that your daughter would meet someone she liked, but also having to worry if she didn't. How ghastly it would be, I thought, shuddering, if Robert had even the slightest inkling of exactly who I _did_ like.

Robert left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The red car was already there, waiting in Robert's spot on the driveway. I bounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this bizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end.

She waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the deadbolt. I walked to the car, pausing shyly before opening the door and stepping in. She was smiling, relaxed—and as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree.

"Good morning." Her voice was silky. "How are you today?" her eyes roamed over my face, as if her question was something more than simple courtesy.

"Good, thank you." I was always good—much more than good—when I was near her.

Her gazed lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired."

"I couldn't sleep," I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around my shoulder to provide some measure of cover.

"Neither could I," she teased as she started the engine. I was becoming used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me, whenever I got to drive it again.

I laughed. "I guess that's right. I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did."

"I'd bet you did."

"So what did you do last night?" I asked.

She chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" My forehead creased. I couldn't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting to her.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, her face graved.

I rolled my eyes. "It changes from day to day."

"What's your favorite color today?" She was still solemn.

"Probably blue." I tended to dress according to my mood.

"Blue?" her voice was laced with curiosity. "Why blue?"

"Well, blue is…different. It can be a nice color or a really sad one. It's the color of so many things; the sky…water…birds. I _miss_ blue. The sky here is always gray and the birds are always hiding from the rain in their little houses."

She seemed fascinated by my little rant. She considered for a moment, staring into my eyes.

"You're right," she decided, still looking into my eyes. "Blue is an amazing color." Without looking away she reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to tuck my hair back behind my ear.

We were at the school by now. She turned back to me as she pulled into a parking space.

"What song is in your CD player right now?" she asked, her face somber as if she'd asked for a murder confession.

I realized I'd never removed the CD Alex had given me. When I said the name of the band, she smiled crookedly, a peculiar expression in her eyes. She flipped open a compartment under her car's CD player, pulled out one of the thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it to me.

"Debussy to this?" She raised an eyebrow.

It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyes down.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While she walked me to English, when she met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, she questioned me relentlessly about ever insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few placed I'd been and the many placed I wanted to go, and dancing—endlessly about dancing.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often than not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring her. But the absolute absorption of her face, and the never-ending stream of questions, compelled me to continue. Mostly her questions were easy, only a very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it brought on a whole new round of questions.

Such as the time she asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topaz before thinking. She'd been flinging questions at me with such speed that I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer with the first word that comes to mind. I was sure she would have continued down whatever mental list she was following, except for the blush. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favorite gemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into her topaz eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, she wouldn't rest until I'd admitted why I was embarrassed.

"It's the color of your eyes today," I sighed, surrendering, staring down at my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. "I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I'd say onyx." I'd given more information than necessary in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was.

But her pause was very short.

"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" she fired off.

I sighed in relief, and continued with the psychoanalysis.

Biology was a complication again. Santana had continued with her quizzing up until Mrs. Weishalla entered the room, dragging the audiovisual from gain. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Santana slide her chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch her cold skin, as yesterday.

I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my hidden fingers gripping the table's edge as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that unsettled me. I didn't look at her, afraid that if she was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I sincerely tried to watch the movie, but at the end of the hour I had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mrs. Weishalla turned the lights on, finally glancing at Santana; she was looking at me, her eyes ambivalent.

She rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also lie yesterday, she touched my face wordlessly—this time with the back of her fool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw—before she turned and walked away.

Gym passed quickly, although Finn never left my side, apologizing constantly. Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I felt bad about his constant clumsiness and forgave him. But I couldn't concentrate on him.

I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved, the sooner I would be with Santana. The pressure made me clumsy, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release when I saw her standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading across my face. She smiled in reaction before launching into more cross-examination.

Her questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. She wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything she wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Robert's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge.

I tried to describe the impossible things like the scent of creosote—bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant—the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me—to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to her.

Her quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at home, she paused instead of responding with another question.

"Are you finished?" I asked in relief.

"Not even close—but your father will be home soon."

"Robert!" I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out at the rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. "How late is it?" I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time—Robert would be driving home now.

"It's twilight," Santana murmured, looking at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. Her voice was thoughtful, as if her mind were somewhere far away. I stared at her as she gazed unseeingly out the windshield.

I was still staring when her eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.

"It's the safest time of day for us," she said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way…the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" She smiled wistfully.

"I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." I frowned. "Not that you see them here much."

She laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

"Robert will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday…" she raised one eyebrow.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from sitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

"Of course not!" her face was teasingly outraged. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?"

"You'll find out tomorrow." She reached across to open the door for me, and her sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations.

But her hand froze on the handle.

"Not good," she muttered.

"What is it?" I was surprised to see that her jaw was clenched, her eyes disturbed.

She glanced at me for a brief second. "Another complication," she said glumly.

She flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost cringed, swiftly away from me.

The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us.

"Robert's around the corner," she warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle.

I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was louder as it glanced off my jacket.

I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Santana illuminated in the glare of the new car's headlights; she was still staring ahead, her gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. Her expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance.

Then she revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Mustang was out of sight in seconds.

"Hey, Brittany," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of the little black car.

"Mike?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Robert's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me.

Mike was already climbing out, his wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a slim looking man with a memorable face—a face that held both pride and strength. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in. Mike's father, Michael Sr. I knew him immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed to forget his name when Robert had spoken of him my first day here. He was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smile faded.

Another complication, Santana had said.

Michael still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groaned internally. Had Michael recognized Santana so easily? Could he really believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Michael's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.

_**A.N. Okay, there you go. I don't know when I'll be able to update again. I'll try writing some more on my way home tomorrow but no promises. Thanks for reading and REVIEW! It makes me happy :D**_


	12. Balancing

_**A.N. sorry guys/girls…I've been busy both reading hlnwst's stories and 2859 which is freaking amazing! I'm also trying to get another story started that hopefully you guys can check out soon if you want. Not to mention that with just 2 weeks of school left I'm struggling to actually get some of my overdue homework in. But I'm taking a break to give you guys this chapter and I hope y'all are still with me 3**_

_**P.S. GAY MARRIAGE IS LEGAL IN MINNESOTA WHOOOO!**_

"Michael!" Robert called as soon as he got out of the car.

I turned toward the house, beckoning to Mike as I ducked under the porch. I heard Robert greeting them loudly behind me.

"I see you finally got Michael to let you start driving huh?" he said happily.

"I have to get around somehow." I recognized Michael's resonant voice easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger, a child.

I went inside, leaving the door open behind me and turning on lights before I hung up my jacket. Then I stood in the door, watching anxiously as Robert and Mike helped Michael out of the car and into his wheelchair.

I backed out of the way as the three of them hurried in, shaking off the rain.

"This is a surprise," Robert was saying.

"It's been too long," Michael answered. "I hope it's not a bad time." His dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable.

"No, it's great. I hope you can stay for the game."

Mike grinned. "I think that's the plan—our TV broke last week."

Michael made a face at his son. "And, of course, Mike was anxious to see Brittany again," he added. Mike scowled and ducked his head while I fought back a surge of remorse. Maybe I'd been too convincing on the beach.

Robert laughed. "You're still playing football aren't you Mike?"

"Yes, sir," he replied "starting at wide receiver this year."

"Good." Robert said clapping him on his back before walking off.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, turning toward the kitchen. I was eager to escape Michael's searching gaze.

"Naw, we ate just before we came," Mike answered, smiling fully at me.

"How about you, Robert?" I called over my shoulder as I fled around the corner.

"Sure," he replied, his voice moving in the direction of the front room and the TV. I could hear Michael's chair follow.

The grilled cheese sandwiches were in the frying pan and I was slicing up a tomato when I sensed someone behind me.

"So, how are things?" Mike asked leaning against the counter and crossing his arms to watch me.

"Pretty good." I smiled. His enthusiasm was hard to resist. "How about you? Did you finish your car?"

"No," he frowned. "I still need parts. We borrowed that one." He pointed with his thumb in the direction of the front yard.

"Sorry. I haven't seen any…what was it you were looking for?"

"Master cylinder." He grinned. "Is something wrong with the truck?" he added suddenly.

"No."

"Oh. I just wondered because you weren't driving it."

I stared down at the pan, pulling up the edge of a sandwich to check on the bottom side. "I got a ride with a friend."

"Nice ride." Mike's voice was admiring. "I didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here."

I nodded noncommittally, keeping my eyes down as I flipped sandwiches.

"My dad seemed to know her from somewhere.""Mike, could you hand me some plates? They're in the cupboard over the sink."

"Sure."

He got the plates in silence. I hoped he would let it drop now.

"So who was it?" he asked, setting two plates on the counter next to me.

I sighed in defeat. "Santana Lopez."

To my surprise, he laughed. I glanced up at him. He looked a little embarrassed.

"As in Santana Lopez sister to the Fabrays?" he laughed again. "Guess that explains it, then," he continued. "I wondered why my dad was acting strange."

"That's right." I faked an innocent expression. "He doesn't like the Fabrays."

"Superstitious old man," Mike muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

"You don't think he'd say anything to Robert?" I couldn't help asking, the words coming out in a low rush.

Mike stared at me for a moment, and I couldn't read the expression in his dark eyes. "I doubt it," he finally answered. "I think Robert chewed him out pretty good last time. They haven't spoken much since—tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. I don't think he'd bring it up again."

"Oh," I said, trying to sound indifferent.

I stayed in the front room after I carried the food out to Robert, pretending to watch the game while Mike chattered at me. I was really listening to the men's conversation, watching for any sign that Michael was about to rat me out, trying to think of ways to stop him if he began.

It was a long night. I had a lot of homework that was going undone, but I was afraid to leave Michael alone with Robert. Finally, the game ended.

"Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" Mike asked as he pushed his father over the lip of the threshold.

"I'm not sure," I hedged.

"That was fun, Robert," Michael said.

"Come up for the next game," Robert encouraged.

"Sure, sure," Michael said. "We'll be here. Have a good night." His eyes shifted to mine, and his smile disappeared. "You take care, Brittany," he added seriously.

"Thanks," I muttered, looking away.

I headed for the stairs while Robert waved from the doorway.

"Wait, Brittany," he said.

I cringed. Had Michael gotten something in before I'd joined them in the living room?

But Robert was relaxed, still grinning from the unexpected visit.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to you tonight. How was your day?"

"Good." I hesitated with one foot on the first stair, searching for details I could safely share. "My badminton team won all four games."

"Wow, I didn't know you could play badminton."

I just shrugged. "I had a good partner," I lied.

"Who is it?" he asked with token interest.

"Um…Finn Hudson," I told him reluctantly.

"Oh yeah—you said you were friends with the Hudson kid." He perked up. "Nice family." He mused for a minute. "Why didn't you ask him to the dance this weekend?"

"Dad!" I groaned. "He's kind of dating my friend Rachel. Besides, you know how I feel about dance…."

"Oh yeah," he muttered. Then he smiled at me apologetically. "So I guess it's good you'll be gone Saturday…I've made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather's supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put your trip off till someone could go with you, I'd stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much."

"Dad, you're doing a great job." I smiled, hoping my relief didn't show. "I've never minded being lone—I'm too much like you." I winked at him, and he smiled his crinkly-eyed smile.

I slept better that night, too tired to dream again. When I woke to the pearl gray morning, my mood was blissful. The tense evening last night seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling while I was pulling the front part of my hair back into a ponytail, and later again as I skipped down the stairs. Robert noticed.

"You're cheerful this morning," he commented over breakfast.

I shrugged. "It's Friday."

I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Robert left. I had my bag ready, shoes on, teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Robert would be out of sight, Santana was faster. She was waiting in her shiny car, windows down, engine off.

I didn't hesitate this time, climbing in the passenger side quickly, the sooner to see her face. She grinned her crooked smile at me, stopping my breath and my hear. I couldn't imagine how an angel could be any more glorious. There was nothing about her that could be improved upon.

"How did you sleep?' she asked. I wondered if she had any idea how appealing her voice was.

"Fin. How was your night?"

"Pleasant." Her smile was amused; I felt like I was missing an inside joke.

"Can I ask what you did?" I asked.

"No." she grinned. "Today is still _mine_"

She wanted to know about people today: more about Elizabeth, her hobbies, what we'd done in our free time together. And then the one grandmother I'd known (Susan), my few school friends—embarrassing me when she asked about people I'd dated. I was relieved that I'd never really dated anyone, so that particular conversation couldn't last long. She seemed as surprised as Rachel and Mercedes by my lack of romantic history.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?" she asked in a serious tone that made me wonder what she was thinking about.

I was grudgingly honest. "Not in Phoenix."

Her lips pressed together into a hard line.

We were in the cafeteria at this point. The day had sped by in the blur that was rapidly becoming routine. I took advantage of her brief pause to take a bite of my bagel.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," she announced while I chewed.

"Why?" I demanded.

"I'm leaving with Kurt after lunch."

"Oh." I blinked, bewildered and disappointed. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk."

She frowned at me impatiently. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you."

"I don't have my key with me," I sighed. "I really don't mind walking." What I minded was losing my time with her.

She shook her head. "Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition—unless you're afraid someone might steal it." She laughed at the thought.

"All right," I agreed, pursing my lips. I was pretty sure my key was in the pocket of a pair of jeans I wore Wednesday, under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. Even if she broke into my house, or whatever she was planning, she'd never find it. She seemed to feel the challenge in my consent. She smirked, overconfident.

"So where are you going?" I asked as casually as I could manage.

"Hunting," she answered grimly. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." Her face grew morose…and pleading. "You can always cancel, you know."

I looked down, afraid of the persuasive power of her eyes. I refused to be convinced to fear her, no matter how real the danger might be. _It doesn't matter_, I repeated in my head.

"No," I whispered, glancing back at her face. "I can't."

"Perhaps you're right," she murmured bleakly. Her eyes seemed to darken in color as I watched.

I changed the subject. "What time will I see you tomorrow?' I asked, already depressed by the thought of her leaving now.

"That depends…it's a Saturday, don't you want to sleep in?" she offered.

"No," I answered too fast. She restrained a smile.

"The same time as usual, then," she decided. "Will Robert be there?"

"No, he's fishing tomorrow." I beamed at the memory of how conveniently things had worked out.

Her voice turned sharp. "And if you don't come home, what will he think?"

"I have no idea," I answered coolly. "He knows I've been meaning to do the laundry. Maybe he'll think I fell in the washer."

She scowled at me and I scowled back. Her anger was much more impressive than mine.

"What are you hunting tonight?" I asked when I was sure I had lost the glowering contest.

"Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far." She seemed bemused by my casual reference to her secret realities.

"Why are you going with Kurt?" I wondered.

"Kurt is the most…supportive." She frowned as she spoke.

"And the others?" I asked timidly. "What are they?"

Her brow puckered for a brief moment. "Incredulous, for the most part. Puck sees no problem with it."

I peeked quickly behind me at her family. They sat staring off in different directions, exactly the same as the first time I'd seen them. Only now they were four; their beautiful, raven-haired sister sat across from me, her golden eyes troubled.

"They don't like me," I guessed.

"That's not it," she disagreed, but her eyes were too innocent. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

I grimaced. "Neither do I, for that matter."

Santana shook her head slowly, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling before she met my gaze again. "I told you—you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever know. You fascinate me."

I glared at her, sure she was teasing now.

She smiled as she deciphered my expression. "Having the advantages I do," she murmurs, touching her forehead discreetly, "I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you…you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

I looked away, my eyes wandering back to her family, embarrassed and dissatisfied. Her words made me feel like a science experiment, I wanted to laugh at myself for expecting anything else.

"That part is easy enough to explain," she continued. I felt her eyes on my face but I couldn't look at her yet, afraid she might read the chagrin in my eyes. "But there's more…and it's not easy to put into words—"

I was still staring at the Fabrays while she spoke. Suddenly Quinn, her blond and breathtaking sister, turned to look at me. No, not to look—to glare, with dark, cold eyes. I wanted to look away, but her gaze held me until Santana broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under her breath. It was almost a hiss.

Quinn turned her head, and I was relieved to be free. I looked back at Santana—and I knew she could see the confusion and fear that widened my eyes.

Her face was tight as she explained. "I'm sorry about Quinn. She's just worried. It's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly…" she looked down.

"If?"

"If this ends…badly." She dropped her head into her hands, as she had that night in Port Angeles. Her anguish was plain; I yearned to comfort her, but I was at a loss to know how. My hand reached toward her involuntarily; quickly, though, I dropped it to the table, fearing that my touch would only make things worse. I realized slowly that her words should frighten me. I waited for that fear to come, but all I could seem to feel was an ache for her pain.

And frustration—frustration that Quinn had interrupted whatever she was about to say. I didn't know how to bring it up again. She still had her head in her hands.

I tried to speak in a normal voice. "And you have to leave now?"

"Yes." She raised her face; it was serious for a moment, and then her mood shifted and she smiled. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that stupid movie left to endure in Biology—I don't think I could take any more."

I started. Kurt—his stylish hair, chocolate brown in creative disarray around his sculpted face—was suddenly standing behind her shoulders. His slight frame was willowy, graceful, and muscular altogether even in absolute stillness.

She greeted him without looking away from me. "Kurt."

"Santana," he answered, his high tenor voice almost as attractive as hers.

"Kurt, Brittany—Brittany, Kurt," she introduced us, gesturing casually with her hand, a wry smile on her face.

"Hello, Brittany." His brilliant obsidian eyes were unreadable, but his smile was friendly as he held out his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Santana flashed a dark look at him and then his hand.

"Hi, Kurt," I murmured shyly, taking his hand.

"Are you ready?" he asked her, shaking my hand than letting go of it gently.

Her voice was nearly aloof. "Nearly. I'll meet you at the car."

He left without another word; his walk was so fluid, so sinuous that I felt that sharp pang of jealousy again.

"Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong saying?" I asked, turning back to her.

"No, 'have fun' works as well as anything." She grinned.

"Have fun, then." I worked to sound wholehearted. Of course I didn't fool her.

"I'll try." She still grinned. "And you try to be safe, please."

"Safe in Forks—what a challenge."

"For you it _is_ a challenge." Her jaw hardened. "Promise."

"I promise to try to be safe," I recited. "I'll do the laundry tonight—that ought to be fraught with peril."

"Don't fall in," she mocked.

"I'll do my best."

She stood then, and I rose, too.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I sighed.

"It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" she mused.

I nodded glumly.

"I'll be there in the morning," she promised, smiling her crooked smile. She reached across the table to touch my face, lightly brushing along my cheekbone again. Then she turned and walked away. I stared after her until she was gone.

I was sorely tempted to ditch the rest of the day, at the very least Gym, but a warning instinct stopped me. I knew that if I disappeared now, Finn and the others would assume I was with Santana. And Santana was worried about the time we spent together publicly…if things went wrong. I refused to dwell on the last thought, concentrating instead on making things safer for her.

I intuitively knew—and sensed she did, too—that tomorrow would be pivotal. Our relationship couldn't continue to balance, as it did, on the point of a knife. We would fall off one edge or the other, depending entirely upon her decision, or her instincts. My decision was made, made before I'd ever consciously chosen, and I was committed to seeing it through. Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more excruciating, than the thought of turning away from her. It was an impossibility.

I went to class, feeling dutiful. I couldn't honestly say what happened in Biology; my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. In Gym, Finn was speaking to me again; he wished me a good time in Seattle. I carefully explained that I'd canceled my trip, worried about my truck.

"Are you going to the dance with Lopez?" he asked, suddenly sulky.

"No, I'm not going to the dance at all."

"What are you doing then?" he asked, too interested.

My natural urge was to tell him to butt out. Instead, I lied brightly.

"Laundry, and then I have to study for the Trig test of I'm going to fail."

"Is Lopez helping you study?"

"_Santana_," I emphasized, "is not going to help me study. She's gone away somewhere for the weekend." The lies came more naturally than usual, I noted with surprise.

"Oh." He perked up. "You know, you could come to the dance with our group anyway—that would be cool. We'd all dance with you ," he promised.

The mental image of Rachel's face made my tone sharper than necessary.

"I'm _not_ going to the dance, Finn, okay?"

"Fine." He sulked again. "I was just offering."

When the school day had finally ended, I walked to the parking lot without enthusiasm. I did not especially want to walk home, but I couldn't see how she would have retrieved my truck. Then again, I was starting to believe that nothing was impossible for her. The latter instinct proved correct—my truck sat in the same space she'd parked her Mustang in this morning. I shook my head, incredulous, as I opened the unlocked door and saw the key in the ignition.

There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. I got in and closed the door before I unfolded it. Two words were written in her messy script.

**Be safe.**

The sound of the truck roaring to life frightened me. I laughed at myself.

When I got home, the handle of the door was locked, the dead bolt unlocked, just as I'd left it this morning. Inside, I went straight to the laundry room. It looked just the same as I'd left it, too. I dug for my jeans and, after finding them, checked the pockets. Empty. Maybe I'd hung my key up after all, I thought, shaking my head.

Following the same instinct that had prompted me to lie to Finn, I called up Rachel in pretense of wishing her luck at the dance. When she offered the same wish for my day with Santana, I told her about the cancellation. She was more disappointed than really necessary for the third party observer to be. I said goodbye quickly after that.

Robert was absentminded at dinner, worried over something at work, I guessed, or maybe a basketball game, or maybe he was just really enjoying the lasagna—it was hard to tell with Robert.

"You know, Dad…," I began, breaking into his reverie.

"What's that Britt?"

"I think you're right about Seattle. I think I'll wait until Rachel of someone else can go with me."

"Oh," he said, surprised. "Oh, okay. So, do you want me to stay home?"

"No, Dad, don't change your plans. I've got a million things to do…homework, laundry…I need to go to the library and the grocery store. I'll be in and out all day…you go and have fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, Dad. Besides, the freezer is getting dangerously low on fish—we're down to a two, maybe three years supply."

"You're very easy to live with Britt." He smiled.

"I could say the same thing about you," I said, laughing. The sound of my laughter was off, but he didn't seem to notice. I felt so guilty for deceiving him that I almost took Santana's advice and told him where I would be. Almost.

After dinner, I folded clothes and moved another load through the dryer. Unfortunately it was the kind of job that only keeps hands busy. My mind definitely had too much free time, and it was getting out of control. I fluctuated between anticipation so intense that it was very nearly pain, and an insidious fear that picked at my resolve. I had to keep reminding myself that I'd made my choice, and I wasn't going back on it. I pulled her note out of my pocket much more often than necessary to absorb the two small words she'd written. She wants me to be safe, I told myself again and again. I would just hold on to the faith that, in the end, that desire would win out over others. And what was my other choice—to cut her out of my life? Intolerable. Besides, since I'd come to Forks, it really seemed like my life was _about_ her.

But a tiny voice in the back of my mind worried, wondering if it would hurt _very_ much…if it ended badly.

I was relieved when it was late enough to be acceptable for bedtime. With everything ready for the morning, I finally lay in my bed. I felt hyper; I couldn't stop twitching. I got up and rifled through my shoebox of CDs until I found a collection of Chopin's nocturnes. I put that on very quietly and then lay down again, concentrating on relaxing individual parts of my body. Somewhere in the middle of that exercise, my brain had had enough, and I gladly sank into unconsciousness.

I woke early, having slept soundly and dreamlessly. Though I was well rested, I slipped right back into the same hectic frenzy from the night before. I dressed in a rush, smoothing my collar against my neck, fidgeting with the black Abercrombie sweater till it hung right out my jeans. I sneaked a swift look out the window to see that Robert was already gone. A thin, cottony layer of clouds veiled the sky. They didn't look very lasting.

I ate breakfast without tasting the food, hurrying to clean up when I was done. I peeked out the window again, but nothing had changed. I had just finished brushing my teeth and was heading back downstairs when a quiet knock sent my heart thudding against my rib cage.

I flew to the door; I had a little trouble with the simple dead bolt, but I yanked the door open at last, and there she was. All the agitation dissolved as soon as I looked at her face, calm taking its place. I breathed a sigh of relief—yesterday's fears seemed very foolish with her here.

She wasn't smiling at first—her face was somber. But then her expression lightened as she looked me over, and she laughed

"Good morning," she chuckled.

"What's wrong?" I glanced down to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything important, like shoes….or pants.

"We match." She laughed again. I realized she had the same long, black sweater on, with a white collar showing underneath, and blue jeans. I laughed with her, hiding a secret twinge of regret—why did she have to look like a runway model when I couldn't?

I locked the door behind me while she walked to the truck. She waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to understand.

"We made a deal," I reminded her smugly, climbing into the driver's seat, and reaching over to unlock her door.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Put your seat belt on—I'm nervous already."

I gave her a dirty look as I complied.

"Where to?" I repeated with a sigh.

"Take the one-oh-one north," she ordered.

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling her gaze on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

"This truck is old enough to be your car's grandfather—have some respect," I retorted.

We were soon out of the town limits, despite her negativity. Thick underbrush and green-swathed trunks replaced the lawns and houses.

"Turn right on the one-ten," she instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed silently.

"Now we drive until the pavement ends."

I could hear a smile in her voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving her right to look over and be sure.

"And what's there, at the pavement's end?" I wondered aloud.

"A trail."

"We're hiking?" thank goodness I'd worn tennis shoes.

"Is that a problem?" she sounded as if she'd expected as much.

"No." I replied confidently. Even though I wasn't the _best _hiker, I reasoned that I could stick with her for a mile or two.

"Great, it's only five miles or so."

I groaned internally, fun…

"What are you thinking?" she asked impatiently after a few moments.

I lied. "Just wondering where we're going."

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both glanced at the thinning clouds after she spoke.

"Robert said it would be warm today."

"And did you tell him what you were up to?" she asked.

"Nope."

"But Rachel thinks we're in Seattle together?" she seemed cheered by the idea.

"No, I told her you canceled on me—which is true."

"No one knows you're with me?" She was angry now.

"That depends…I assume you told Kurt and Puck?"

"That's very helpful, Brittany," she snapped.

I pretended I didn't hear that.

"Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?" she demanded when I ignored her.

"You said it might cause trouble for you…us being together publicly," I reminded her.

"So you're worried about the trouble it might cause _me—_if _you_ don't come _home?_" Her voice was still angry, and bitingly sarcastic.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.

She muttered something under her breath, speaking so quickly that I couldn't understand.

We were silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of infuriated disapproval rolling off of her, and I could think of nothing to say.

And then the road ended, constricting to a thin foot trail with a small wooden marker. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, afraid because she was angry with me and I didn't have driving as an excuse not to look at her. It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I'd arrived, almost muggy under the clouds. I pulled off my sweater and knotted it around my waist, glad I'd worn the light, sleeveless shirt—especially if I had five miles of hiking ahead of me.

I heard her door slam, and looked over see that she's removed her sweater, too. She was facing away from me, into the unbroken forest beside my truck.

"This way," she said, glancing over her shoulder at me, eyes still annoyed. She started into the dark forest.

"The trail?" Panic was clear in my voice as I hurried around the truck to catch up to her.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"No trail?" I asked desperately.

"I won't let you get lost." She said seeming to read my mind. She turned then, with a mocking smile, and I stifled a gasp. Her white shirt was sleeveless, and she wore it better than a model could ever dream of. It cut into a small v-neck that was accented by two necklaces around the collar, both silver, framing it, drawing my eyes to her amazingly endowed chest without it looking skanky. Her white bra just barely leaving an outline against the thicker material. Her perfect figure no longer merely hinted at behind concealing clothes. She was too perfect, I realized with a piercing stab of despair. There was no way this goddess of a creature could be meant for me.

She stared at me, bewildered by my tortured expression.

"Do you want to go home?" she said quietly, a different pain than mine saturating her voice.

"No." I walked forward till I was close beside her, anxious not to waste one second of whatever time I might have with her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"I'm not a very good hiker," I answered dully. "You'll have to be very patient."

"I can be patient—if the cause is great enough." She smiled, holding my glance, trying to lift me out of my sudden, unexplained dejection.

I tried to smile back, but the smile was unconvincing. She scrutinized my face.

"I'll take you home," she promised. I couldn't tell if the promise was unconditional, or restricted to an immediate departure. I knew she thought it was fear that upset me, and I was grateful again that I was the one person whose mind she couldn't hear.

"If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way," I said acidly. She frowned at me, struggling to understand my tone and expression.

She gave up after a moment and led the way into the forest.

It wasn't as hard as I had feared. The way was mostly flat, and she held the damp ferns and webs and moss aside for me. When her straight path took us over fallen trees or boulders, she would help me, lifting me by the elbow, and then releasing me instantly when I was clear. Her cold touch on my skin never failed to make my heart thud erratically. Twice, when that happened, I caught a look on her face that made me think she could somehow hear it.

I tried to keep my eyes away from her perfection as much as possible, but I slipped often. Each time, her beauty pierced me through with sadness.

For the most part, we walked in silence. Occasionally she would ask a random question that she hadn't gotten to in the past two days of interrogation. She asked about my birthdays, my grade school teachers, my childhood pets—and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a row, I'd given up on the whole institution. She laughed at that, louder than I was used to—bell-like echoes bouncing back to us from the empty woods.

The hike took most of the morning, but she never showed any sign of impatience. The forest spread around us in a boundless labyrinth of ancient trees, and I began to be nervous that we would never find our way out again. She was perfectly at ease, comfortable in the green maze, never seeming to feel any doubt about our direction.

After several hours, the light that filtered through the canopy transformed, the murky olive tone shifting to a brighter jade. The day had turned sunny, just as she'd foretold. For the first time since we'd entered the woods, I felt a thrill of excitement—which quickly turned to impatience.

"Are we there yet?" I teased, pretending to scowl.

"Nearly." She smiled at the change in my mood. "Do you see the brightness ahead?"

I peered into the thick forest. "Um, should I?"

She smirked. "Maybe it's a bit too soon for _your_ eyes."

"time to visit the eye doctor," I muttered. Her smirk grew more pronounced.

But then after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow instead of green. I picked up the pace, my eagerness growing with every step. She let me lead now, following noiselessly.

I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last fringe of ferns into the loveliest place I had ever seen. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers—violet, yellow, and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I walked slowly, awestruck, through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. I halfway turned, wanting to share this with her, but she wasn't behind me where I thought she's be. I spun around, searching for her with sudden alarm. Finally I spotted her, still under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching me with cautious eyes. Only then did I remember what the beauty of the meadow had driven from my mind—the enigma of Santana and the sun, which she'd promised to illustrate for me today.

I took a step back toward her, my eyes alight with curiosity. Her eyes were wary, reluctant. I smiled encouragingly and beckoned to her with my hand, taking another step back to her. She held up a hand in warning, and I hesitated, rocking back onto my heels.

I watched as she crossed her arms and her hands reached down to the bottom of her shirt and they slowly pulled it over her head, closing her eyes in the process. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped as she balled the shirt up into one hand, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the bright glow of the midday sun.

_**A.N. K, I'm sorry to end it there but it's where the chapter ends anyway, it's 10:47 so I'm tired, and I have to do homework yet tonight so I don't fail anything. Plus 5,983 words and 17 pages is totally enough for one chapter. So, yea, I love all of you who are reading this and Review: tell me how I'm doing or just yell at me to update cause it really helps. Night guys/gals sleep well :)**_


	13. Confessions

_**A.N. Ok, so I guess you guys get another chapter and I'll admit I'm not too happy with it but it's to both make up for my absence and because my internet is being crap at home (where I am right now) and I can't do the 2 MONTHS WORTH of German homework I have! Aghhhh….but it's fine, I guess if my parents kill me than no more story but that shouldn't happen so we're all good. So yea, imma stop rambling and just let y'all that actually read these author notes…..read this chapter. Enjoy :)**_

_**Ohhhhhh! P.S. if any of you are awesome with photoshop or something and have nothing better to do...you wanna make me a cover photo for this thing? K, now i'm done ^_^**_

Santana in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn't get used to it, or the fact that she was shirtless, though I'd been staring at her all afternoon. Her skin, on full display to me, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. She lay perfectly still in the grass, her shirt folded a few feet away, her chest moving up and down very slowly and her hands spread out on the ground, her right playing with the grass underneath it. Except for those small movements she looked like a perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal.

Now and then, her lips would move, so fast it looked like they were trembling. But, when I asked, she told me she was singing to herself; it was too low for me to hear.

I enjoyed the sun, too, though the air wasn't quite dry enough for my taste. I would have liked to lie back, as she did, and let the sun warm my face. But I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees, unwilling to take my eyes off her. The wind was gentle; it tangled my hair and simply ruffled hers along with the grass that swayed around her motionless form.

The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to her magnificence.

Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that she would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real...Hesitantly, I reached out one finger and stroked the back of her shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as stone. When I looked up again, her eyes were open, watching me. Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. Her quick smile turned up the corners of her flawless lips.

"I don't scare you?" she asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in her soft voice.

"While you're sparkling like a fairy?" I laughed, "No you don't. No more than usual anyway."

She smiled wider; her teeth flashed in the sun.

I inched closer, stretched out my whole hand now to trace the contours of her forearm with my fingertips. I saw that my fingers trembled, and knew it wouldn't escape her notice.

"Do you mind?" I asked, for she had closed her eyes again.

"No," she said without opening her eyes. "You can't imagine how that feels." She sighed.

I lightly trailed my hand over the perfect muscles of her arms, followed the very faint pattern of bluish veins inside the crease at her elbow. With my other hand, I reached to turn her hand over. Realizing what I wished, she flipped her palm up in one of those blindingly fast, disconcerting movements of hers. It startled me; my fingers froze on her arm for a brief second.

"Sorry," she murmured. I looked up in time to see her golden eyes close again. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

I lifted her hand, turning it this way and that as I watched the sun glitter on her palm. Noticing the way our hands, although complete opposites in color, looked like they belonged together. I held it closer to my face, trying to see the hidden facets in her skin.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she whispered. I looked to see her eyes watching me, suddenly intent. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"You know, the rest of us feel that way all the time."

"It's a hard life." Did I imagine the hint of regret in her tone? "But you didn't tell me."

"I _was_ wishing I could know what you were thinking…" I hesitated.

"And?"

"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing that I wasn't afraid."

"I don't want you to be afraid." Her voice was just a soft murmur. I heard what she couldn't truthfully say, that I didn't need to be afraid, that there was nothing to fear.

"Well, that's not exactly the fear I meant, though that's certainly something to think about."

So quickly that I missed her movement, she was half sitting, propped up on her right arm, her left palm still in my hands. I barely took notice of her exposed torso; her angel's face was only a few inches from mine. I might have—should have—flinched away from her unexpected closeness, but I was unable to move. Her golden eyes mesmerized me.

"What are you afraid of, then?" she whispered intently.

But I couldn't answer. As I had just that once before, I smelled her cool breath in my face. Sweet, delicious, the scent made my mouth water. It was unlike anything else. Instinctively, unthinkingly, I leaned closer, inhaling.

And she was gone, her hand ripped from mine. In the time it took my eyes to focus, she was twenty feet away, standing at the edge of the small meadow, in the deep shade of a huge fir tree. She stared at me, her eyes dark in the shadows, her expression unreadable.

I could feel the hurt and shock on my face. My empty hands stung.

"I'm…sorry…Santana," I whispered. I knew she could hear.

"Give me a moment," she called, just loud enough for my less sensitive ears. I sat very still.

After ten incredibly long seconds, she walked back, slowly for her. She stopped, still a few feet away, and sunk gracefully to the ground, crossing her legs and pulling her folded shirt over her head. Her eyes never left mine. She took deep breaths, and then smiled in apology.

"I'm so sorry." She hesitated. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

I nodded once, not quite able to smile at her joke. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as the realization of danger slowly sank in. she could smell that from where she sat. Her smile turned mocking.

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I? Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my _smell_. As if I need any of that!" unexpectedly, she was on her feet, bounding away, instantly out of sight, only to appear beneath the same tree as before, having circled the meadow in half a second. Some long buried instinct forced me to my feet.

"As if you could outrun me," she laughed bitterly. I watched as she disappeared and reappeared in front of me, her hand on my chin, burning but not burning me, her face close.

"As if you'd want to." She whispered and I closed my eyes as her breath ghosted across my face, reveling in the smell and feel of it. I felt her hand slowly slip from my chin and opened my eyes. I couldn't see her in front of me and spun around when I heard her voice across the meadow behind me.

"As if you could fight me off!" she yelled, reaching up with one hand, and, with a deafening crack, effortlessly ripped a two-foot-thick branch from the trunk of the spruce. She balanced it in her hand for a moment, and then threw it with blinding speed like a javelin, shattering it against another huge tree, which shook and trembled at the blow.

She was in front of me again, standing two feet away, still as stone, her eyes hurt and angry at the same time.

"As if you had a chance," she said gently.

I stood without moving, more frightened of her than I had ever been. I'd never seen her so completely freed of that carefully cultivated façade. She'd never been less human…or more beautiful. Face dark, eyes filled with both pleading and sorrow, I sat like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake.

Her eyes seem to glow with both excitement and anguish until they dimmed. They were constantly changing, the only thing showing her emotions until her immaculate face slowly folded into a mask of sadness.

"Don't be afraid," she murmured, her velvet voice unintentionally seductive. "I promise…" she hesitated. "I _swear_ not to hurt you." She seemed more concerned with convincing herself than me.

"Don't be afraid, please," she whispered again as she stepped closer, with exaggerated slowness. She sat sinuously, with deliberately unhurried movements, and I followed suit, until our faces were on the same level, just a foot apart.

"Please forgive me," she said formally. "I _can_ control myself. You caught me off guard. But I'm on my best behavior now."

She waited, but I still couldn't speak.

"Are you all right?" she asked tenderly, reaching slowly, carefully, to hold her hand in-between us, her palm up, as if a peace offering.

I looked at her smooth, cold hand, and then at her eyes. They were soft, repentant. I looked back at her hand, and then reached out and took it, returning to tracing the lines in her hand with my fingertips. I looked up and smiled timidly, still waiting for my voice.

Her answering smile was dazzling.

"Where were we before I behaved so badly?" she asked in the gentle cadences of an earlier century.

"I honestly can't remember." Oh…found it.

She smiled, but her face was ashamed. "I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Oh, right."

"Well?"

I looked down at her hand and doodled aimlessly across her smooth, iridescent palm. The seconds ticked by.

"You have no idea how frustrated I am," she sighed. I looked into her eyes, abruptly grasping that this was every bit as new to her as it was to me. As many years of unfathomable experience as she had, this was hard for her, too. I took courage form that thought.

"I was afraid…because, for, well, obvious reasons, I can't _stay_ with you. And I'm afraid that I'd like to stay with you, much more than I should." I looked down at our hands as I spoke. It was difficult for me to say this aloud.

"Yes," she agreed slowly. "That is something to be afraid of. Wanting to be with me. That's really not in your best interest."

I frowned.

"I should have left long ago," she sighed. "I should leave now. But I don't know if I can."

"I don't want you to leave," I mumbled pathetically, staring down again.

"Which is exactly why I should. But don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should."

"I'm glad."

"Don't be!" she withdrew her hand, more gently this time; her voice was harsher than usual. Harsh for her, still more beautiful than any human voice. It was hard to keep up—her sudden mood changes left me always a step behind, dazed.

"It's not only your company I crave! Never forget _that_. I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else." She stopped, and I looked to see her gazing unseeingly into the forest.

I thought for a moment.

"I don't think I understand exactly what you mean—by that last part anyway," I said.

She looked back at me and smiled, her mood shifting yet again.

"How do I explain?" she mused. "And without frightening you again…" without seeming to think about it, she placed her hand back in mine; I held if tightly in both of mine. She looked at our hands.

"That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth." She sighed.

A moment passed as she assembled her thoughts.

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" she began. "Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?"

I nodded.

"Sorry about the food analogy—I couldn't think of another way to explain."

I smiled. She smiled ruefully back.

"You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, he'd gladly drink it. But he could resist, if he wished to, if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac—and filled the room with it's warm aroma—how do you think he would fare then?"

We sat silently, looking into each other's eyes—trying to read each other's thoughts.

She broke the silence first.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison. It would be too easy to resist. Maybe the alcoholic is a heroin addict instead."

"So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

She smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. "Yes, you are _exactly_ my brand of heroin."

"Does that happen often?" I asked.

She looked across the treetops, thinking through her response.

"I spoke to my siblings about it" she still stared into the distance. "To Blaine, every one of you is much the same. He's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn't had time to grow sensitive to differences in smell, in flavor." She glanced quickly at me, her expression apologetic.

"Sorry," she said.

"I don't mind. Please don't worry about offending me, or frightening me, or whatever. That's the way you think. I can understand, or I can try to at least. Just explain however you can."

She took a deep breath and gazed at the sky again.

"So Blaine wasn't sure if he'd ever come across someone who was as"—she hesitated, looking for the right word—"_appealing_ as you are to me. Which makes me think not. Puck has been 'on the wagon longer'," she air quoted with an eye roll, "and he understood what I meant. He says twice, for him, once stronger than the other."

"And for you?"

"Never."

The word hung there for a moment in the warm breeze.

"What did Puck do?" I asked to break the silence.

It was the wrong question to ask. Her face grew dark, her hand clenched into a fist inside mine. She looked away. I waited, but she wasn't going to answer.

"I guess I know," I finally said.

She lifted her eyes; her expression was wistful, pleading. "Even the strongest fall, don't they?"

"What are you asking? My permission?" my voice was sharper than I'd intended. I tried to make my tone kinder—I could guess what her honest must cost her. "I mean, is there no hope, then?"

"No, no!" She was instantly contrite. "Of course there's hope! I mean, of course I won't…" she left the sentence hanging. Her eyes burned into mine. "It's different for us. Puck…those were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as…practiced, as careful, as he is now."

She fell silent and watched me intently as I thought it through

"So if we'd met…oh, in a dark alley or something…" I trailed off.

"It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of people and—"she stopped abruptly, looking away. "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Will has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last, well, too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself." She paused, scowling at the trees.

She glanced at me grimly, both of us remembering. "You must have thought I was possessed."

"I couldn't understand why. How you could hate me so quickly…"

"The fragrance coming off your skin…I thought it would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what that could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow…"

She looked up then at my staggered expression as I tried to absorb her bitter memories. Her golden eyes scorched from under her lashes, hypnotic and deadly.

"You would have cam," she promised.

I tried to speak calmly. "Without a doubt."

She frowned at my hands releasing me from the force of her stare. "And then you were always there, almost following me. You have no idea how hard it was not to take you. But I resisted. I don't know how. I forced myself _not_ to wait for you, _not_ to follow you home from school. It was easier outside where I couldn't smell you. I left my siblings at home and told Will I was leaving."

I stared in surprise.

"I traded cars with him, I didn't want to stop for gas, and by the next morning I was in Alaska. I spent two days there with some old friends…but I was homesick. Both for my family and you…I convinced myself it was weak to run away and came back. Who were you to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back…" she stared off into space.

I couldn't speak.

"It was a large complication that I couldn't simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn't used to having to go to such lengths to watch you. Listening to Rachel's mind…her mind isn't a nice place to be." She laughed, "and it was extremely annoying to have to do that. And then I couldn't know if you really meant what you said. It was all extremely irritating." She frowned at the memory.

"So I tried to talk to you like I would with any person. I was eager actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions…and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand or your hair, and the scent would stun me again…of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse, for why I acted at that moment—because if I hadn't saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don't think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, 'Not her.'"

She closed her eyes, lost in her agonized confession. I listened, more eager than rational. Common sense told me I should be terrified. Instead, I was relieved to finally understand. And I was filled with compassion for her suffering, even now, as she confessed her craving to take my life.

I finally was able to speak, though my voice was faint. "In the hospital?"

Her eyes flashed up to mine. "I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power—you of all people. As I if needed another motive to kill you." We both flinched as that word slipped out. "But it had the opposite effect," she continued quickly. I fought with Quinn, Puck, and Blaine when they suggested that now was the time…the worst fight we've ever had. Will sided with me, and Kurt." She grimaced when she said his name. I couldn't imagine why. "Emma told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay." She shook her head indulgently.

"All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn't understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn't become more involved with you. I did my best to stay as far from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath, your hair…it hit me as hard as the very first day.

She met my eyes again, and they were surprisingly tender.

"And for all that," she continued, "I'd have fared better if I _had_ exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you."

I was human enough to have to ask. "Why?"

"Brittany." She pronounced my name carefully, than playfully ruffled my hair with her free hand. A shock ran through my body at her casual touch. "Britt, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." She looked down, ashamed again. "The thought of you, still, white, cold…to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses…it would be unbearable." She lifted her glorious, agonized eyes to mine. "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

Y head was spinning at the rapid change in direction our conversation had taken. From the cheerful topic of my impending death, we were suddenly declaring ourselves. She waited, and even though I looked down to study our hands between us, I knew her golden eyes were on me.

"You already know how I feel, of course," I finally said. "I'm here…which, roughly translated, means I would rather die than stay away from you." I frowned. "I'm an idiot."

"Don't _ever_ call yourself and idiot Britt." Santana narrowed her eyes at me. "You are anything but. If anything you simply make questionable choices," she smiled.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…," she murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word.

"What a stupid lamb," I sighed.

"What a sick, masochistic lion." She stared into the shadowy forest for a long moment, and I wondered where her thought had taken her.

"Why…?" I began, and then paused, not sure how to continue.

She looked at me and smiled; sunlight glinted off her face, her teeth.

"Yes?"

"Tell me why you ran from me before."

Her smile faded. "You know why."

"No, I mean, _exactly_ what did I do wrong? I'll have to be on my guard, you see, so I better start learning what I shouldn't do. This, for example"—I stroked the back of her hand—"seems to be all right."

She smiled again. "You didn't do anything wrong, Britt. It was my fault."

"But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you."

"Well…" she contemplated for a moment. "It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness…I wasn't expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your _throat_." She stopped short, looking to see if she'd upset me.

"Okay, then," I said flippantly, trying to alleviate the suddenly tense atmosphere. I tucked my chin. "No throat exposure."

It worked; she laughed. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else."

She raised her free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I sat very still, the chill of her touch a natural warning—a warning telling me to be terrified. But there was not feeling of fear in me. There were, however, other feelings…

"You see," she said. "Perfectly fine."

My blood was racing, and I wished I could slow it, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult—the thudding of my pulse in my veins. Surely she could hear it.

"The blush on your cheeks is beautiful," she murmured. She gently freed her other hand. My hands fell limply into my lap. Softly she brushed my cheek, than held my face between her marble hands.

"Be very still," she whispered, as if I wasn't already frozen.

Slowly, never moving her eyes from mine, she leaned toward me. Then abruptly, but very gently, she rested her cold cheek against the hollow at the base of my throat. I was unable to move, even if I'd wanted to. I listened to the sound of her even breathing, watching the sun and wind play in her raven hair, more human than any other part of her.

With deliberate slowness, her hands slid down the sides of my neck. I shivered, and I heard her catch her breath. But her hands didn't pause as they softly moved to my shoulders, and then stopped.

Her face drifted to the side, her nose skimming across my collarbone. She came to rest with the side of her face pressed tenderly against my chest.

Listening to my heart.

She sighed.

I don't know how long we sat without moving. It could have been hours. Eventually the throb of my pulse quieted, but she didn't move or speak again as she held me. I knew at any moment it could be too much, and my life could end—so quickly that I might not even notice. And I couldn't make myself be afraid. I couldn't think of anything, except that she was touching me.

And then, too soon, she released me.

"It won't be so hard again," she said with satisfaction.

"Was that very hard for you?"

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?"

"No, it wasn't bad…for me."

She smiled at my inflection. "You know what I mean."

I smiled.

"Here." She took my hand and placed it against her cheek. "Do you feel how warm it is?"

And it was almost warm, her usually icy skin. But I barely noticed, for I was touching her face, something I'd dreamed of constantly since the first day I'd seen her.

"Don't move," I whispered.

No one could be still like Santana. She closed her eyes and became as immobile as stone, a carving under my hand.

I moved even more slowly than she had, careful not to make one unexpected move. I caressed her cheek, delicately stroked her eyelid, the faint purple shadow in the hollow under her eye. I traced the shape of her perfect nose, and then, so carefully, her flawless lips. Her lips parted under my hand, and I could feel her cool breath on my fingertips. I wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of her. So I dropped my hand and leaned away, not wanting to push her too far.

She opened her eyes, and they were hungry. Not in a way to make me fear, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of my stomach and send my pulse hammering through my veins again.

"I wish," she whispered, "I wish you could feel the…complexity...the confusion…I feel. That you could understand."

She raised her hand to my hair, carefully brushing across my face with her fingertips.

"Tell me," I breathed.

"I don't think I can. I've told you, on the one hand, the hunger—the thirst—that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though"—she half-smiled—"since you're not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathized completely."

"But…" her fingers touched my lips lightly, making me shiver again. "There are other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand, that are foreign to me."

"I may understand _that_ better than you think."

"I'm not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?"

"For me?" I paused. "No, never. Never before this."

She held my hands between hers. They felt so feeble in her iron strength.

"I don't know how to be close to you," she admitted. "I don't know if I can."

I leaned forward very slowly, cautioning her with my eyes. I placed my cheek against her stone chest. I could hear her breath, and nothing else.

"This is enough," I sighed, closing my eyes.

In a very human gesture, she put her arms around me and pressed her face against my hair.

"You're better at this than you give yourself credit for," I noted.

"I have human instincts—they may be buried deep, but they're there."

We sat like that for another immeasurable moment; I wondered if she could be as unwilling to move as I was. But I could see the light was fading, the shadows of the forest beginning to touch us, and I sighed.

"You have to go."

"I thought you couldn't read my mind."

"It's getting clearer." I could hear a smile in her voice.

She took my shoulders and I looked into her face.

"Can I show you something?" she asked, sudden excitement flaring in her eyes.

"Show me what?"

"I'll show you how _I_ travel in the forest." She saw my expression. "Don't worry, you'll be very safe, and we'll get to your truck much faster." Her mouth twitched up into that crooked smile so beautiful my heart nearly stopped.

"Will you turn into a bat?" I asked warily.

She laughed, louder than I'd ever heard, and just shook her head smiling at me again.

"Come on, Britt, climb on my back."

I waited to see if she was kidding, but, apparently, she meant it. She smiled as she read my hesitation, and reached for me. My heart reacted; even though she couldn't hear my thoughts, my pulse always gave me away. She then proceeded to sling me onto her back, with very little effort on my part, besides, when in place, clamping my legs and arms so tightly around her that it would choke a normal person. It was like clinging to a stone.

"I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," I warned.

"Hah!" she snorted. I could picture her eyes rolling. I'd never seen her in such high spirits before.

She startled me, suddenly grabbing my hand, pressing my palm to her face, and inhaling deeply before placing a chaste kiss on the palm.

"Easier all the time," she muttered.

And then she was running.

If I'd ever feared death before in her presence, it was nothing compared to how I felt now.

She streaked though the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that her feet touched the earth. Her breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly speeds, always missing us by inches.

I was too terrified to close my eyes, though the cool forest air whipped against my face and burned them. I felt as if I were stupidly sticking my head out the window of an airplane in flight. And, for the first time in my life, I felt the dizzy faintness of motion sickness.

Then it was over. We'd hiked hours this morning to reach Santana's meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, we were back to the truck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" Her voice was high, excited.

She stood motionless, waiting for me to climb down. I tried, but my muscles wouldn't respond. My arms and legs stayed locked around her while my head spun uncomfortably.

"Brittany?" she asked, anxious now.

"I think I need to lie down," I gasped.

"Oh, sorry." She waited for me, but I still couldn't move.

"I think I need help," I admitted.

She laughed quietly, and gently unloosened my stranglehold on her neck, giving my hand a kiss again. There was no resisting the iron strength of her hands. Then she pulled me around to face her, my legs still around her hips, her hands supporting me but not being intrusive. She held me for a moment, then carefully placed me on the springy ferns.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

I couldn't be sure how I felt when my head was spinning so crazily. "Dizzy, I think."

"Put your head between your knees."

I tried that, and it helped a little. I breathed in and out slowly, keeping my head very still. I felt her sitting beside me. The moments passed, and eventually I found that I could raise my head. There was a hollow ringing sound in my ears.

"I guess that wasn't the best idea," she mused.

I tried to be positive, by my voice was weak. "No, it was very interesting."

She laughed. "Brittany, you're as white as a ghost."

"I think I should have closed my eyes."

"Remember that next time."

"Next time!" I groaned.

She laughed again, her mood still radiant.

"Show-off," I muttered.

"Open your eyes, Britt," she said quietly.

And she was right there, her face so close to mine. Her beauty stunned my mind—it was too much, and excess I couldn't grow accustomed to.

"I was thinking, while I was running…" she paused.

"About not hitting the trees, I hope."

She chuckled. "Running is second nature to me, it's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," I muttered again.

She smiled.

"No," she continued, "I was thinking there was something I wanted to try." And she took my face in her hands again.

I couldn't breathe.

She hesitated—not in the normal way, the human way.

Not the way a person might hesitate before they kissed another, to gauge their reaction, to see how they would be received. Perhaps they would hesitate to prolong the moment, that ideal moment of anticipation, sometimes better than the kiss itself.

Santana hesitated to test herself, to see if this was safe, to make sure she was still in control of her need.

And then her cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine.

What neither of us was prepared for was my response.

Blood boiled under my skin, burned in my lips. My breath came in a wild gasp. My fingers knotted in her hair, clutching her to me. My lips parted as I breathed in her heady scent.

Immediately I felt her turn to unresponsive stone beneath my lips. Her hands gently, but with irresistible force, pushed my face back. I opened my eyes and saw her guarded expression.

"Oops," I breathed.

"That's an understatement."

Her eyes were wild, her jaw clenched in acute restraint, yet she didn't lapse from her perfect articulation. She held my face just inches from hers. She dazzled my eyes.

"Should I…?" I tried to disengage myself, to give her some room.

Her hands refused to let me move so much as an inch.

"No, it's tolerable. Wait for a moment, please." Her voice was polite, controlled.

I kept my eyes on hers, watched as the excitement in them faded and gentled.

Then she smiled a surprisingly impish grin.

"There," she said, obviously pleased with herself.

"Tolerable?" I asked.

She laughed aloud. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

"I wish I could say the same. I'm sorry."

"You _are_ only human, after all."

"Thanks so much," I said, my voice acerbic.

She was on her feet in one of her lithe, almost invisibly quick movements. She held out her hand to me, an unexpected gesture. I was so used to our standard of careful non-contact. I took her icy hand, needing the support more than I thought. My balance had not yet returned.

"Are you still faint from the run? Or was it my kissing expertise?" she commented, wiggling her eyebrows. How lighthearted, how human she seemed as she laughed now, her seraphic face untroubled. She was a different Santana than the one I had known. And I felt all the more besotted by her. It would cause me physical pain to be separated from her now.

"I can't be sure, I'm still woozy," I managed to respond. "I think it's some of both, thought."

"Maybe you should let me drive."

"Are you insane?" I protested.

"I can drive better than you on your best day," she teased. "You have much slower reflexes."

"I'm sure that's true, but I don't think my nerves, or my truck, could take it."

"Some truck, please, Britt."

My hand was in my pocket, curled tightly around the key. I pursed my lips, deliberated, then shook my head with a tight grin.

"Nope. Not a chance."

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

I started to step around her, heading for the driver's side. She might have let me pass if I hadn't wobbled slightly. Then again, she might not have. Her arm created an inescapable snare around my waist.

"Brittany, I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Besides, friends don't let friends drive drunk," she quoted with a chuckle. I could smell the unbearable sweet fragrance coming off her as she held me close.

"Drunk?" I objected.

"You're intoxicated by my very presence." She said, grinning that playful smirk as she whispered the words into my ear.

"I can't argue with that," I sighed. There was no way around it; I couldn't resist her anything. I held the key high and dropped it, watching her hand flash like lightning to catch it soundlessly. "Take it easy—my truck is a senior citizen."

"Very sensible," she approved.

"And you aren't affected at all?" I asked, irked. "By my presence?"

Again her mobile features transformed, her expression became soft, warm. She didn't answer at first; she simply bent her face to mind, and brushed her lips slowly along my jaw, from my ear to my chin, back and forth. I trembled.

"Regardless," she purred against my neck and then pulled away, speaking from the other side of my truck before she got in "I have better reflexes."

I sighed and reluctantly got into the passenger's side.

_**A.N. And that's all folks :) I hope you at least liked it a little bit. If you don't like reviewing you can always yell at me on my tumblr at blog/dork510 just sayin….:D**_

_**Next update will probably be my other story and I'll only post one chapter for feels about how people like it while I'm finishing Gleelight so don't get mad if I never update it or anything…..but when you can…check that out for me will you? Tell me if it sucks or what I can do to make it better. Thanks 3 Love ya!**_


	14. Mind Over Matter

_**A.N. Hey guys/girls….mostly girls…. I'm gonna update this now I guess, in honor of summer (late I know) and because some of you guys (and other people) actually liked my story so yay ^_^**_

_**Hanging From Your Heart: I appreciate the fact that you kept reading. My original intention was to just do exactly as you suggested and "copy" the twilight book. But then as I kept writing I realized that Edward is an a** and I have no idea why in the h-e-double hockey sticks Bella would ever put up with that. So I **_do_** plan on putting more…original, stuff in there as the book goes on to actually make it my own, worth reading, and better able to fit the story line. So thanks :) I'm glad you didn't decide to shoot me or something :D**_

_**Naya's Snixxx: I freakin love you. You're like an overexcited fangirl (not a bad thing) who keeps me wanting to write :D so thanks to you too!**_

She could drive well, when she kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to her. She barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter from the center of the lane. She drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat, fire tingled from her cold touch. Sometimes she gazed into the setting sun, most of the time she was gazing at me—my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together—and I was becoming self-conscious.

She had turned the radio to an oldies station, and she sang along with a song I'd never heard. She knew every line.

"You like sixties music?" I asked.

"Of course, Fleetwood Mac was one of the best things to come from that era. They were much better than most of the seventies or eighties." She shuddered.

"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" I asked, tentative, not wanting to upset her buoyant humor.

"Does it matter much?" her smile, to my relief, remained unclouded.

"No, but I still wonder…"

"I don't want to upset you," she whispered to me. I waited as she gazed into the sun; the minutes passed.

"Try me," I finally coaxed.

She sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever she saw there must have encouraged her. She looked into the sun—the light of it setting seeming not to trigger her "sparkle defense"—as I'd dubbed it—but simply bathed her in an orange glow that brought out her beauty even more as she spoke.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901." She paused and glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. My face was carefully unsurprised, patient for the rest. She smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Will found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza. _**Irony huh?" **_she smirked, making a joke I guessed.

She heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. She looked down into my eyes again.

"I don't remember it well—it was a really long time ago, and human memories fade." She was lost in her thoughts for a short time before she went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Will saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you forget."

"Your parents."

"They had already died from the disease. First my father, than my mother, I was alone. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

"How did he…save you?"

A few seconds passed before she answered. She seemed to choose her words carefully.

"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Will has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us…I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history." She paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."

I could tell from the set of her lips, that she wouldn't say anything else about the subject. I suppressed my curiosity, though it was far from idle. There were many things I needed to think through on this particular issue, thing that were only beginning to occur to me. No doubt her quick mind had already comprehended every aspect that eluded me.

Her soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "He acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Will's family, though he found Emma soon after. She fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."

"So you must be dying, then, to become…" We never said the word, and I couldn't frame it now.

"No, that's just Will. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." The respect in her voice was evident when she spoke of her father figure. "It is easier he says, though," she continued, "if the blood is weak." She looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again.

"And Puck and Quinn?"

"Will brought Quinn to the family next. I didn't realized till much alter that, after he found out about my sexuality, he was hoping she would be to me what Emma was to him—he was careful with his thoughts around me." She rolled her eyes. "But she was never more than a sister and we butt heads so much that we would have destroyed the world in our first fight if we had even wanted to be together. It was only two years later that she found Puck she was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." She threw a pointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of her hand.

"But she made it," I encouraged, looking away from the unbearable beauty of her eyes.

"Yes," she murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. God knows what," she laughed, "that dead squirrel on his head would have made me think of food rather than love. But they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to e, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled I high school." She laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, _again_."

"Blaine and Kurt?"

"Kurt and Blaine are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Blaine belonged to another…family, a _very_ different kind of family. He became depressed, and he wandered on his own. Kurt found him. Like me, he has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind."

"Really?' I interrupted, fascinated. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true. He knows other things. He _sees _things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change."

Her jaw set when she said that, and her eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it.

"What kinds of things does he see?"

"He seen Blaine and knew that he was looking for him before he knew it himself. He saw Will and our family, and they came together to find us. He's most sensitive to non-humans. He always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."

"Are there a lot of…your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us detected?

"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people"—a sly glance in my direction—"can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found on other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live…differently tend to band together."

"And the others?"

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."

"Why is that?"

We were parked in front of my house now, and she'd turned off the truck. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off so I knew my father wasn't home yet.

"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" she teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

"So that's where the legends came from?"

"Probably."

"And Kurt came from another family, like Blaine?"

"No, and that _is_ a mystery. Kurt doesn't remember his human life at all. And he doesn't know who created him. He awoke alone. Whoever made him walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, they could. If he hadn't had that other sense, if he hadn't seen Blaine and Will and known that he would someday become one of us, he probably would have turned into a total savage."

There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, I hadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous.

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"I'm fine, really."

"I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forgot."

"I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to her.

"Can't I come in?" she asked.

"Would you like to?" I couldn't picture it, this goddess-like creature sitting in my father's shabby kitchen chair.

"Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almost simultaneously she was outside my door, opening it for me.

"Very human," I complimented her.

"It's definitely resurfacing." She smiled at me.

She walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had to peek at her constantly to be sure she was still there. In the darkness she looked much more normal. Still dreamlike in her beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

She reached the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfway through the frame.

"The door was unlocked?"

"No, I used the key from under the eave."

I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at her with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of her.

"I was curious about you."

"You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage.

She was unrepentant anyway. "What else is there to do at night?"

I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. She was there before me, needing no guide. She sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture her in. her beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before I could look away.

I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.

"How often?" I asked casually.

"Hmmm?" she sounded as if I had pulled her from some other train of thought.

I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?"

"I come here almost every night."

I whirled, stunned. "Why?"

She looked away, briefly before capturing my eyes with hers. "Originally, it was because I hated you. I wanted nothing more than to have you gone. You were hurting my family's happiness, my happiness; I thought we would be better off if you left again. So I came here to convince myself of that. Who were you to ruin what we had? But I didn't want to give in. You were an innocent and I needed a reason to make you leave.

So I snuck into your room, your window squeaked horribly by the way," she smiled at me and I had to smile back even though she was confessing her past hatred of me. "But now I come because I have this unsustainable urge to see you always. I shouldn't and I know that but, after you said my name—"

"No!" I gasped, interrupting her as heat flooded my face all the way to my hairline. I gripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, though.

Her expression instantly switched from one of almost shame to worry. "What? Are you angry with me?"

"That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me.

She waited.

"On?" she urged.

"What you heard!" I waited.

Instantly, silently, she was by side, taking my hands carefully in hers.

"Don't be upset." She pleaded holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away.

"You miss your mother," she whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too _green'_" she laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.

"Anything else?" I questioned.

She knew what I was getting at. "You _do_ talk about me sometimes."

I sighed in defeat. "A lot?"

"How much do you mean by 'a lot', exactly?"

I groaned and buried my head in my hands.

She pulled me against her chest, softly, naturally, and I was instantly encompassed by her unique smell that relaxed me minimally.

"Don't be self-conscious," she whispered. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."

Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in her arms.

"Should your father know I'm here?" she asked.

"I'm not sure…" I tried to think it through quickly.

"Another time then…"

I felt the softest of kisses against my hair and I was alone.

"Santana!" I hissed.

I heard a chuckle that came from somewhere upstairs, than nothing else.

My father's key turned in the door.

"Brittany?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.

"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked in. his footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Santana.

"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Santana's chair for support.

I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire in my mouth. As I sat the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Robert sat in the chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.

"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table.

"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.

"Good. The fish were biting…how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"

"Not really—it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another big bite.

"It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought to myself.

Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk.

Robert surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?"

"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."

"You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention?

"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.

"It's Saturday," he mused.

I didn't respond.

"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.

"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep."

"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" he was suddenly suspicious, but trying to play it cool.

"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." I was careful not to over-emphasize the word _boys_ in my quest to be truthful to Robert.

"I thought maybe that Finn Hudson…you said he was friendly."

"He's _just _a friend, Dad."

"Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out of the house before the hormones kick in.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.

"Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, awaiting for me to try to sneak out.

"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at midnight to check on me.

I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked u pthe stairs to my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear,, and then sprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out into the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the trees.

"Santana?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.

The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?"

I whirled, one hand flying to my chest in surprise.

She lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, her hands behind her head, her feet dangling off the end, the picture of ease.

"OH!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor.

"I'm sorry." She pressed her lips together, trying to hide her amusement.

"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."

She sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then she leaned forward and reached out to pick me up, gripping the top of my arms like I was a toddler. She sat me on the bed beside her.

She let go of me and slid one hand down my arm to intertwine with my hand. "How's the heart?"

"You tell me—I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

I felt her quiet laughter shake the bed.

We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about having Santana in my room, with my father in the house.

"Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked.

She nodded and gestured with her hand to proceed.

"Stay," I said, trying to look severe.

"Yes, ma'am." And she made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed.

I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.

I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, so Robert wouldn't come up to bother me.

I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough _and_ speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Santana, sitting in my room waiting, because then I had to start all over with the calming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey white t-shirt, almost a size too small for me, and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home.

I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, putting my brush and toothpaste back into the medicine cabinet. Then I dashed down the stairs so Robert could see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.

"Night, Dad."

"Night, Brittany." He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would keep him from checking on me tonight.

I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me.

Santana hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Aphrodite perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and her lips twitched, the statue coming to life.

Her eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. She raised one eyebrow. "Nice."'

I grimaced.

"No, it looks good on you."

"Thanks," I whispered. I went back to her side, sitting cross-legged beside her. I looked at the lines in the floor. She copies my stance.

"What was all that for?"

"Robert thinks I'm sneaking out."

"Oh." She contemplated that. "Why?" as if she couldn't know Robert's mind much more clearly than I could ever guess

"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."

She lifted my chin, examining my face.

"You look very warm, actually."

She bent her face slowly to mine, laying her cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still and the burning feeling shot through the spot where our skin touched.

"Mmmm…," she breathed.

It was very difficult, while she was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.

"It seems to be…much easier for you, now, to be close to me."

"Does it seem that way to you?" she murmured, her nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt her hand, lighter than a butterfly's wing, brush my damp hair back, so that her lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.

"Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale.

"Hmm."

"So I was wondering…," I began again, but her fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, leaving their own little burning trail to accompany the one now on my neck, and I lost my train of thought.

"Yes?" she breathed.

"Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?"

I felt the tremor of her breath on my neck as she laughed. "Mind over matter."

I pulled back, as I moved, she froze—and I could no longer hear the sound of her breathing.

We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as her clenched jaw slowly relaxed, her expression became puzzled.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No—the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained.

She considered that briefly, and when she spoke, she sounded pleased. "Really?" a triumphant smile slowly lit her face.

"Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically.

She grinned.

"I'm just surprised," she clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," her voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with…in another way than my brothers and sister. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it…at being with you…"

"You're good at everything," I pointed out.

She shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.

"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon…"

"It's not _easy_," she sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still…undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave like that."

"Not unforgiveable," I disagreed.

"Thank you." She smiled. "You see," she continued, looking down now, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough…" She picked up our interlaced hands and pressed mine lightly to her face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be…overcome"—she breathed in the scent at my wrist—"I was…susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I _was_ strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would…that I ever could…"

I'd never seen her struggle so hard for words. It was so…human.

"So there's no possibility now?"

"Mind over matter," she repeated, smiling, her teeth bright even in the darkness.

"Wow, that was easy," I said.

She threw back her head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.

"Easy for _you_!" she amended, touching my nose with her fingertip.

And then her face was abruptly serious.

"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice pained. "If it gets to be…too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving.

"And it will be harder tomorrow," she continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."

"Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice.

"That suits me," she replied, her face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles—I'm your prisoner..."—she shook her head—"just…wanky." She laughed her quiet, musical laugh. She'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with her.

"You seem more…optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" she smiled. "The glory of first love, and all that. But jealousy…it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Robert asked you about that idiot Finn Hudson…" She shook her head angrily.

"Of course you were listening." I groaned. "_That_ made you feel jealous, though, really?"

"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

"But honestly," I teased, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Quinn—Quinn, one of the two known incarnations of pure beauty, _Quinn_—was meant for you. Puck or no Puck, how can I compete with that?"

"There's no competition." Her teeth gleamed. She drew my hands behind her neck, not letting go when they were secure. "Of course Quinn _is_ beautiful in her own way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Puck didn't belong with her, she could never have a tenth of the attraction you hold for me." She was serious now, thoughtful. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours…all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet."

"It hardly seems fair," I whispered, chancing to let my fingers tickle her neck lightly. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"

"You're right," she agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you definitely." She released her left hand from my wrist, only to gather it carefully with the other into her right. She slowly reached out and stroked my wet hair softly, playing with it when she reached the end. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, that's surely not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity…what's the worth?"

"Very little—I don't feel deprived of anything."

"Not yet." And her voice was abruptly full of grief.

I tried to untangle a hand but she locked my wrist in an unbreakable hold.

"What—" I started to ask, when her body became alert. I froze, but she suddenly released my hands and disappeared. My hands falling with a small thunk against the soft covers.

"Lie down!" she hissed. I couldn't tell where she spoke from in the darkness.

I rolled under my quilt, balling up on my side, the way I usually slept. I heard the door crack open, as Robert peeked in to make sure I was where I was supposed to be. I breathed evenly, exaggerating the movement.

A long minute passed. I listened, not sure if I'd heard the door close. Then Santana's cool arm was around me, under the covers, her lips at my ear.

"You're not a very good actress—we'll have to work on that."

"Looking forward to it," I muttered. My heart was crashing in my chest.

She hummed a melody I didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby.

She paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"

"Right," I laughed. "Like I could sleep with you here!"

"So if you don't want to sleep…," she suggested and my breath caught.

"If I don't want to sleep…?"

She chuckled. "What do you want to do then?"

I couldn't answer at first, the small circles she was tracing on my stomach not helping my train of thought.

"I'm not sure," I finally said.

"Tell me when you decide."

I could feel her cool breath on my neck, feel her nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling.

A thousand ideas ran through my mind but of course we couldn't do _that_. "I-I thought you were desensitized."

"Mmmm, doesn't mean I can't enjoy what's been given to me," she whispered tightening her arm slightly drawing me back into her. "You have a very enticing smell, it's like lavender…and vanilla," she noted. "It's mouthwatering."

"Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get _somebody_ telling me how edible I smell." I say, trying to make a joke to distract me from the way her raspy voice sends butterflies to my stomach.

She chuckles, and then sighs.

"I've decided what I want to do," I told her. "I want to hear more about you."

"Ask me anything."

I shifted through my question for the most vital. "Why do you do it?" I said. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you _are_. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

She hesitated before answering. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it. The others—the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot—they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been…dealt a certain hand…it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above it, to stop what done of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."

I lay unmoving, locked in awed silence.

"Did you fall asleep?' she whispered after a few minutes.

"No."

"Is that all you were curious about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not quite."

"What else do you want to know?"

"Why can you read minds—why only you? And Kurt, seeing the future…why does that happen?"

I felt him shrug in the darkness. "We don't really know. Will has a theory…he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Kurt had some precognition, wherever he was."

"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"

"Will brought his compassion. Emma brought her ability to love passionately. Puck brought his strength, Quinn her…tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness," she chuckled. "Blaine is very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."

I considered the impossibilities she described, tying to take it in. she waited patiently while I thought.

"So where did it all start? I mean, Will changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on…"

"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey?

"Are you ready to sleep?" she asked, interrupting the short silence, "Or do you have any more questions?"

"Only a million or two."

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…," she reminded me. I smiled, euphoric at the thought.

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" I wanted this to be certain. "You are mythical, after all."

"I won't leave you." Her voice had the seal of a promise in it.

"One more, then, tonight…" and I blushed. The darkness was no help—I'm sure she could feel the sudden warmth under my skin.

"What is it?"

"No, forget it. I changed my mind."

"Britt, you can ask me anything."

I didn't answer, and she groaned.

"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and _worse_."

"I'm glad you can't read my thoughts. It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking."

"Please?" her voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist.

I shook my head.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is," she threatened darkly. "Please?" Again, that pleading voice.

"Well," I began, glad that she couldn't see my face.

"Yes?"

"You said that Quinn and Puck will get married soon…is that…marriage…the same as it is for humans?'

She laughed in earnest now, understanding. "Is _that_ what you're getting at?"

I fidgeted, unable to answer.

"Yes, I suppose it is much the same," she said. "I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."

"Oh," was all I could say.

"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"

"Well I did wonder…about you and me…someday…"

She was instantly serious, I could tell by the sudden stillness of her body. I froze, too, reacting automatically.

"I don't think that…that…would be possible for us."

"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that…close?"

"That's certainly a problem. But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you are so soft, so fragil, I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you.k I could kill you quite easily, rittany, simply by accident." Her voice had become just a soft murmur. She moved her icy palm to rest it aainst my cheek. "If I was too hasty…if for one second I wasn't paying attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly _breakable_ you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

She waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn't. "Are you scared?" she asked.

I waited for a minute to answer, so the words would be true. "no, I'm fine."

She seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I'm curious now, though," she said, her voice light again. "Have _you_ ever…?" she trailed off suggestively.

"No," I flushed. "I-I mean I've done stuff but never, never…uh…"

She laughed, "It's ok Britt, I'm not going to judge you. I was just curious. I know that love and lust don't always keep the same company. At least we have _something_ in common."

Your human instincts…," I began. She waited. "Well, do you find me attractive, in _that _way, at all?"

She laughed and returned her arm to resting around my waist. "I may not be human but I'm still a lesbian." She assured me.

I yawned involuntarily.

"I've answered your questions, now you should sleep," she insisted.

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" I said too loudly.

She laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in my ear.

More tired than I realized, exhausted form the long day of mental and emotional stress like I'd never felt before, I drifted to sleep in her cold arms.

_**A.N. There you go. Sorry **_**again**_** for the wait but softball sub-sections went longer than I thought and I've been sidetracked by Random Dice's **_**Princess Of Darkness**_** and **_**Only In My Nightmares **_**and MGMK's **_**Mayaverse **_**stories, they're amazing go check them out and…..yea that's it :) have a good night/day/afternoon/whatever *heart***_


	15. Sorry

You guys...i'm sorry. I've gotten **_so_ **bad at updating this and I guess I just don't have the drive at the moment. So, I'm going on Hiatus to work on my other story and this one so that i'll have the chapters before hand and be able to get them up in a more timely manner. Thank you sooo much for keeping with me up until now you have no idea how much I appreciate that and the amazing reviews you guys give me. But I still have to take a break, but don't worry because this isn't a real end and I will always love you guys the most *heart* I promise...


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